


Strange Sort Of Circumstance

by MitzyBlue



Category: Fallout 4, Fallout universe - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Drinking, F/M, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, M/M, Multi, Nothing too graphic if I can help it, Probably no actual smut, Smoking, This is longer than intended, UA, Universe Alterations, characters with issues, drunk one night stand to lovers, too much plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-05-14 02:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 91,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5726131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MitzyBlue/pseuds/MitzyBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war took a lot from Agent Rosie Stone. After being retired from the service due to an accident she finds herself married and taking care of a newborn son- just as nuclear disaster hits. Lucky for her, Vault Tec has accepted her and her family into the vault nearby. Now, 200+ years later she's awoken from the vault tec experiment that froze her in cryo sleep. The world she finds seems even more determined than the war to rip away those she loves. This is the story of her search to find that which is missing. Will she find it? Will her legacy be swallowed up by the wasteland? Or will she be able to find joy and peace in strange places with new people as they fit or in some cases fall into her life.</p><p>[[<b> I apologize but this is a very 'slowly' written tale. Thank you for being patient. </b> ♥]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If Wishes were Horses

**Author's Note:**

> I expect(ed) to update this very slowly and the chapters won't be as long or as detailed as I normally write. However, I REALLY wanted to share this with you. As for why I wrote it the way I did- I was not satisfied with the backstory that we were given in the game and while dabbling in ideas I came up with one I really liked. I'm going to be including lore from other fallout games and there may be some slight differences between my story and the fallout universe. (probably because the Fallout universe is terribly inconsistent)
> 
>  ~~There is a very real possibility that this will become either a Nick Valentine/Sole survivor or a John Hancock/Sole survivor story. OR It may swing in another direction that I don't anticipate. I'm not picky but I'm going to let it do it's own thing.~~ The relationship developed. Check tags. _(Another tag/partner will be coming soon when we get to that part of the story? maybe?)_
> 
> For reference, all images of Rosie Stone will be posted here-  
> [ Game images of Rosie and Nate](http://mitz-terblue.tumblr.com/post/138103009285/rosie-stone-and-husbear-nathan-nate-stone)  
> [Image of Pre-War Rosie](http://mitz-terblue.tumblr.com/post/139032907350/pre-war-early-waruninjured-rosie-stone)  
>   [Chapter 25 outfit reference](http://mitz-terblue.tumblr.com/post/138806483800/rosie-stone-reference-image-manip-model)  
> [Tumblr tagged Rosie Stone Posts](http://mitz-terblue.tumblr.com/tagged/rosie-stone)  
> French translations/help by the wonderful (and very talented) **Sisyphe**.  
>  (If you are a Mass Effect fan-[GO CHECK OUT HER WORK](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sisyphe))
> 
>   **Translations can be found via hovering a mouse over the non-english words or at the End.**

 

* * *

 

 

~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

 

Rosie Stone lounged on the rock face in the crisp morning air.

Tapping the ash from her cigarette, she watched the bright orb. It was the sun. She knew it though she could barely see well enough to actually identify it. Her eyes locked on horizon behind her sunglasses, and all she could think of how much it looked like the nuclear explosion that had stolen the majority of her sight. This new wasteland had few doctors, and all the ones she’d met couldn’t help her. Without doctors and working factories, there were no prescription glasses to help her either. Search as she might since waking up, nothing could de-blur the world.

But that was probably for the best.

Sighing, she stomped out the glow from the stub of her 200-years-stale cigarette and headed back inside the vault path. Vault 81. Not _her_ vault, but ‘a ’ vault. One with actual living people inside it. Since waking, she’d learned to expect death more than during the war. Every scrap of radiated land was a warzone- nowhere was truly safe. The detour to check out the vault was taking precious time, but she was making her way on foot to a place only known as Diamond City. Though the town’s radio station was a constant siren call reminder of where she needed to go, random happenstance meant she had come across a trader that mentioned the vault. Since Vault 81 was technically along the way and she needed supplies, it made sense to stop. 

It was worth the small diversion.

True, her stolen son needed her, but she also needed to survive long enough to rescue him. The only way to do that was to have the needed equipment, money, and food. The minuteman, Preston, had 'imparted' that survival knowledge on her before she left her old town of Sanctuary. There was no reason to correct him or claim she knew otherwise.

But that wasn’t the only reason she’d searched for the vault.

In truth, she hoped a doctor there that would have medical knowledge enough to help her fix her eyes. Being near blind in this hell could get you killed. Fast. Thankfully, between her military experience, Duke, and Codsworth she’d managed to survive.

With a sigh she tapped the button to request entry and spoke softly, “This is Mrs. Stone requesting entry.”

It had taken some work to gain permission to enter the vault, but she was hoping that it would be worth it.

The bright lights at the door to the vault made her wince as she hefted a bag of gear she’d scavenged and intended to sell. The lights turned the blur of the world into a white blob as she walked forward. Over the other shoulder she held a small grey cat, Ashes, that she’d caught at the request of one of the vault children, Erin. The furry grey creature who’d escaped its underground home was purring a rotten storm as she carried it. Bastard. It’d been easy to find thanks to Duke being able to track, but the vault had closed for the night by the time she’d managed to capture the blasted creature. In the end, what was one more night outside on a disgusting filthy mattress compared to a kid’s happiness?

Through the intercom she could hear officer Edwards make a rude sound. Fucking prick. For a moment her hand curled in Ashe’s soft grey fur as she fought back anger. This horrible wasteland was nothing like the land she’d left behind. Sure, the war hadn’t been peachy, but this… this was nothing shy of a mockery in the skeleton of a memory.

It didn’t help that memory seemed to be all that manners were now as well.

To her, it had only been a couple weeks since she’d been quietly joking in front of the mirror with her husband as they got ready for a veteran’s dinner. Coffee for breakfast. Shaun asleep in his crib and plans to go to the park later to meet up with friends. Plans for Shaun’s first halloween… Christmas… Time with family.

But all that was gone.

With a careful breath, she blew out her anger in a gust and rubbed tiredly at her forehead. Scraped knuckles running over the scars that covered the right side of her face. Part of an injury that had forcefully retired her from military life over 200 years ago. Not many could survive the blast that left lingering scars over her body.  

Not many did.

Now… none but her had.

Clicking her tongue, she called over her shoulder, “Duke?”

The german shepherd came bounding down the tunnel with an old stuffed bear in his mouth and a happy wag of his tail. She’d already named him by the time she ran into the mad old woman who’d called him Dogmeat, but since the dog didn’t seem to mind the new name, it had stuck. He cocked his head at her before sitting and stuffing the bear back into the bag that was harnessed to his back. It never struck her as unusual to see smart dogs. In the war they’d had robotic dogs- it meant that one didn’t have to re-train a dog if it’s body was taken out in battle. However, she’d never met a regular looking dog that was this smart. It still didn't come at a surprise though. 

Nearby, Codsworth was muttering to himself as he attempted to darn a leather harness she’d found the day before. A small pile of items he’d managed to fix were sitting beside him as he worked. “Codsworth? We should head in.”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Of course, mum.”

“And Codsworth?”

“Yes, mum?”

“Thank you. I really appreciate your hard work fixing these things for me to sell. Did you need any parts for self repair that I should be on the lookout for when I’m trading?”

Codsworth whirred slightly as he floated along beside her.

“I may need a new optical lens, mum. But you shouldn’t--.”

“Nonsense, Codsworth, honey. We’ve had this discussion before. I’m always more than happy to help you. If they have a spare optical lens then I’ll try and get it.”

“Thank you, Miss Stone.”

 

* * *

 

 

~(***)~  
[Codsworth]

 

“Vinegar.”

“Come again, mum?”

Shining mirrored shades turned  towards Codsworth like a turret finding someone to focus on. He knew her vision was damaged far more than his own, but it still felt as though she could burn his circuits with the glare she was leveling. They hadn't been in the vault long but once asked for help she had become all business.

“I need you to see if anyone here in the vault has vinegar or something chemically similar while I go speak with the engineer staff. They need to close these vents...”

“I- ...yes, mum. Ah, may I ask what for?”

Each of his eye stalks turned in her direction as she walked away from him without answering. He’d heard stories from Sir about how mum had saved him in the war but he’d  never experienced the difference between mum as a soldier and mum as, well, _mum_. Now he was seeing first ‘hand’ the difference. Soldier mum was a little scary. She would bark orders and expect them to be followed. Her mind seemed to be whirring almost as fast as his as she worked to keep people alive.

Allowing one stalk to stay focused on her he floated his way over to the nearest person.

“Ah, Excuse me, sir. If someone in this establishment were to have vinegar where might I find them?”

The old man in front of him scratched under his stubbly, drooping, fleshy chin. Codsworth didn’t say it, but for the most part he found humans strange and old humans to be more-so. The idea that something could sag as it got older was ridiculous. It seemed like ages before the human answered, “You might try Maria at the diner or Dr. Penske, Mr. Robot.”

“Thank your, Sir. Good day.”

 

* * *

 

 ~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

 

Rosie set to work at Dr. Penske’s chemical station. It was a simple gas bomb that would cause respiratory problems. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to cobble the mix together and it wouldn’t be the last but she’d never had to do it blind before. Either way, it should do the trick if she didn’t kill herself making it.

Behind her, Dr. Penske fretted and paced,“What are you doing? You need to hurry and get the cure for Austin.”  

To a point, Rosie understood the woman's frustration and fear. In Dr Penske's shoes she felt she might have been acting the same if she didn't have the ridged military training holding her back. As it was, the day had definitely not gone according to plan. She'd never expected to sit down for an eye surgery only to have people barge in with one of the children, a boy named Austin, bleeding and struggling to breathe. Not but a few hours ago he'd been giving her a tour of the vault. She'd humored him when he'd asked for payment. The idea of bottle caps being currency still seemed... a stupid sort of humorous and dangerous. She hated carrying the things around- they made too much noise and were relatively heavy once you had a decent amount. Closing her eyes for a moment she took a shaky breath in and held it. It was up to her to save the boy. She hated not being able to see, but time was precious now that the child had fallen ill from the bite. A little issue like not being able to fully see what she was working on couldn’t deter her now.

Eventually, Codsworth arrived with the vinegar. The hiss of his thrusters announcing his presence with the last of what she needed now that the engineers had assuredly closed off a majority of the vents. The rest of the mixture was already poured out in their little containers. It was amazing how a little Jet and some abraxo became deadly with a third ingredient and lack of air filters. More-so if you added a fuse to vaporize the mix when thrown.

“Mum, you are aware that this mixture creates a deadly gas…?” Codsworth asked while setting a hesitant claw on her arm.

She glanced up from pouring some of the vinegar into a test tube using her hands at guidence with a healthy dose of hope. “I am. The boy was bitten by molerats. If they are like the larger vermin I encountered and if they are indeed carriers for manufactured viruses, then I need a way to neutralize them while I search for the cure.”

Dr. Penske stopped her pacing to stare, “But what if the cure is _in_ one of the molerats?”

Rosie looked to the older lady, “I have considered this.The mixture will not damage any of the glands or cardio vascular system. It simply shuts down the respiratory system by no longer allowing the victim to process oxygen. …the drugs helps ease their passing and to an effect will also act as a calming agent but should not cause issue when synthesizing a vaccine.”

In a practiced movement she put stoppers in each of the vials and ducttaped them together with the flash fuse that would shatter and vaporize the mixture.  She tapped the desk where several other vials had been left with a curious looking blue mixture, “I have requested that the ventilation be closed off as much as possible, but should anyone display or complain of breathing issues, this is the antidote. Advise the Doctor to administer 2-C-Cs via IV drip. Now, please excuse me.”

Codsworth followed behind her with Duke, “But mum, what about you?”

Rosie didn’t pause as she knelt beside her pack and pulled out a gas mask, “I will be fine.” She shifted to face the dog that pranced nearby, “Duke, you gotta stay here buddy. Can you keep an eye on the boy for me?”

The dog’s tail gave a slow wag and he whined.

“I know boy, but it’s got to be just Codsworth and I for this. I don’t have a mask that would fit you yet. You’d make me feel better if you stayed with the boy. He needs a friend to watch over him while I look for the cure.”

This time, Duke gave a small bark and turned to run towards where the doctors were trying to help Austin.

Rosie straightened and held out the mask, “Codsworth, can you hold this while I repin my hair?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light edits made 3-3-17


	2. Secrets in the Walls

* * *

 

 ~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone] 

 

Pale purple vapor hung in the air like the rising smoke of a fired gun.

During the war, she wouldn’t have dared to tint the normally clear gas. No sense in alerting your enemies, right? But this was a different time. 200 years different. Just the slightest amount of juice from one of the vault scientist's mutfruit plants had been enough to tint the resulting vapor so that people could see when it had settled or cleared. Turning to look at her robot companion, she gave an order that was partially muffled by the mask, “Codsworth, I need you to collect the bodies for possible autopsies. If they are still alive then put them out of their misery.”

“... of course, mum.”

Moving silently, she made her way along the wrecked halls.  She’d tossed several of the gas bombs into the vault and shut the door to wait before entering herself. Even with her poor vision, it was obvious that the creatures had already become affected. The ones that were alive were mellow and didn’t move to attack as she passed them.  Beady eyes were glassed over as they lost the ability to breathe. Passing from life like shadows being swallowed by the light of a match.

As she crept, she realized that a great deal of the walls were actually windows that viewed the rooms of the occupied side of the vault.

Passing by them, she could hear conversations from people who had no clue that they were being watched. From one speaker the voice of Dr. Penske could be heard as she fretted about her child. Adopted or not- the cranky old woman loved the boy. The Holts were fighting, raised voices echoing as Rosie passed by the window looking into the shop. She couldn’t tell if the man was cheating on his wife or if he was ‘using’ and didn’t want his wife to know. It didn’t matter enough to warrant attention either way.

 _“How is Austin doing?”_ The overseer’s voice crackled through another nearby speaker.

Rosie stopped at the new window and glanced in. Years of grime caked most of the view, but she could see into the overseer’s office. The white blur of the vault doctor's labcoat moved into view as he responded, “Not good, the infection has progressed quite rapidly.” Rosie didn’t stay to listen to more. It was up to her to hurry and find a cure.

Rows of cages and a low growl stopped her in her tracks. The air was clearer here.

Shit.

Long teeth sank through her boot and into her ankle like small knives. Panicked, she hit the tiny attacker with the butt of her gun. In her haste she’d gotten careless and she knew it. A few smacks and the dead molerat lay twitching on the floor. Greenish glowing blood oozed slowly from where she’d hit. Kicking the body away, she pulled the last of her gas bombs out and smashed it on the ground. Broken glass scattered on the rubber matting of the vault floor and crunched underfoot as she made her way through the room.

After checking each room for any sort of medicine or usable research notes, she moved on. A  working terminal kept one of the doors locked tight.

The terminal was easy to bypass.

Months locked in a bunker with a crack team of misfit survivors and her engineering father had taught her everything she knew about hacking terminals. Hell, she'd been a robotics professor before she'd joined the marines and been recruited for the project that changed her life. She would always remember her father's tricks though and how almost all terminals had backdoor protocols that were just itching to be broken through. Even without being able to read the screen, she could hear by the beeps and chirps that told her everything she needed to know.  

It wasn’t long before she reached three lockers lain on the floor. Tiny memorials beside each of them with the old melted wax of candles that had once burned. A memorial of the last of the secret vault section residents, she guessed. Just beyond it was a white robot locked in the room with what appeared to be all the surviving science gear. All the eyestalks were focused on an old terminal that flickered dimly even in the well lit room.

Rosie tapped the glass to get the attention of the Miss Nanny Robot, “Excuse me?”

 

~~

 

Standing with her back against the wall of the vault hospital, Rosie checked and re-holstered her gun out of pure frustration and old habit. Nearby, the new robot, Curie, chattered with the nurse. Once freed from the room, the robot had begged to join Rosie in exploring the wasteland. Who was she to say no?

Sighing, she bit back the urge to reach for a cigarette to curb the itch of anxiety that had built from waiting for the child to wake up.

It had been an hour since the doctor had administered the only vial of the cure to the boy.  His condition was improving while Rosie’s was starting to decline. She hadn’t told anyone about her own bite. Disease or not- she wouldn’t risk the boy dying to try and cure whatever she’d gotten from the molerat. The itch behind her eyes, roll of her stomach, and heat from her skin was all she needed to know about what she was in for. She hoped it wasn’t too permanent but even if it was, it would be worth it if the child lived. It was the least she could do for people who lived in a world she helped created.

The clock above her ticked obnoxiously, and she rubbed her face with giving another aggravated sigh. Another four ticks and she felt ready to come out of her skin. Deciding that she couldn’t hold out any longer, she slipped through the doorway and headed for the generator room where the entrance to the secret vault was. If memory served, there had been a little station near the back that would be perfect for sneaking a cig. She headed for the back and found exactly what she was looking for. A little stool and a radio were stashed with an ashtray and some empty Nuka Cola bottles. Ignoring the stool, she switched on the radio and lit a cigarette as she slumped against the wall and slid to the ground.

A gentle hand shook her awake but the words spoken above her were blurred as badly as the world her eyes normally saw. Only the odd phrase seemed to filter through her haze as she tried to force herself back to consciousness.

_“Miss?”_

_“I don’t know, ....No, I just found her like this.”_

_“Someone get the doctor.”_

Rosie opened her eyes to try and find the source of the hushed whispers. What was left of her cigarette fell from her lips as she tried to think past the fever that had set in while she slept. Pushing from the ground, she found that standing had been a very bad idea as the room began to spin and she pitched forward. Darkness tuned her out to the world before she even hit the floor. 

She woke in a hospital bed. Austin and Erin were sitting on the nearby bed reading a book.

“She’s awake!” The boy hollered to the doctors as soon as he saw that her eyes were open.

Rosie winced, “Kiddo, I’m sure you know about using your inside voice, right?”

“Oh… sorry Ms. Stone.”

“It’s alright... Glad to see you're awake.”

Erin bounced off the bed and deposited Ashes onto Rosie’s lap, “Here. Mom says cats have magic healing powers. Since you gave the cure to Austin I figure... maybe Ashes can help you?”

Rosie buried her hands in the soft grey fur and closed her eyes, “Thanks Erin.” Her hand absently petted the cat as she took mental stock on how she felt and said, “and thank you too, Ashes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minor edits made [3-3-17]


	3. I’m a Very Good, GoodNeighbor

* * *

 

  ~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

Rosie was nearly laughing herself hoarse.

For the first time since waking up from cryo sleep she was laughing and she wasn't sure _WHY_ her mind had picked this time to make her crack up. Stress does odd things so really, why not?

Leaning against the wall, she held her hand over a slowly bleeding wound on her abdomen while she wheezed laughter and tears. Only a few minutes previous, her gun had jammed and she’d fucking impaled herself on a piece of broken magazine rack in an attempt to escape a leaping ghoul. It wouldn’t have been too bad if that glowing bastard hadn’t tackled her to the ground and forcefully ripped what had been a small gash into a nasty gaping wound. A stupid part of her mind hoped that the C-section scar was still intact on her stomach as it was her only firm connection to her baby boy since he’d been stolen. 

Then, there was the next matter. In front of her was a ghoul chasing Duke. Together, she and Duke had actually managed to remove one of it’s legs and both it’s arms. So now the foul creature was hopping around trying to bite the dog while leaking the most foul smelling green tinged blood. The scene had her in tears. Perhaps it was delirium caused by the lack of food and water. Radiation sickness. Not enough sleep. The culmination of weeks of stress. Whatever it was, now made her break down in ugly hiccuping laughter as she watched  the ghoul hop around the room. It was like something out of an old comedy skit that the brass would put on to ‘raise moral’. Reminded her of the old Captain America skits with Hitler that her grandfather had talked about.

Beside her, she noticed a somehow still intact display case and the glimmer of something metal. Still choking on near hysterical laughter, she edged over to see an ax. Silent hope trilled through her and her laughter faded off as she pulled a set of bobby pins from her hair and began the old jimmy trick she’d learned in what seemed like another life.

As the lock clicked open, Duke gave a bark of alarm.

Glancing upwards she gained a faceful of falling ghoul as it had finally switched its attention to her. Hands quick as snakes fresh from the sun, she pulled the ax from it’s case and slashed blindly. Mad fear that the item was no more than a prop was gnawing at her mind, but when the ax in question remained sturdy and whole, she heaved a soft grunt of relief. Head hacked mostly from it’s shoulders, the ghoul lay in a puddle of putrid blood.  The old building had returned to the ghostly silence of something long abandoned but still deadly. Setting the ax on the counter, she allowed the fingers of her free hand to slowly explore it; her eyes still of little use. After a few seconds of careful exploration she was fighting back a grin.  This was one of the beautiful and coveted replicas of Grognak’s ax. She remembered seeing ads for it in the latest issue that she'd collected. It seemed like so long ago and no time at all since she'd been lusting over the idea of having it for display in Shaun's room. Nate had somehow and somewhat reasonably talked her out of it, but she'd still harbored the dream. 

Frowning at the memory of her husband, her hand caressed the old prop replica.

“Mum?”

Rosie looked up to see the familiar silvery form of Codsworth descending what she assumed was left of the staircase.

“Oh,” Curie floated behind him, “Madame! You are injured.”

Looking down at the wound, Rosie didn’t move the hand that blood sluggishly dripped from as she gave a weak protest, “It's a scratch. Had worse in the war.”

“Oh this won’t do!” Curie bustled up to her, and before Rosie could protest further she felt the spike of a needle and the familiar marshmallow of background calm from Med-X. She'd never been good with the drug. It had the bad tendency to make her babble and for a spy that simply wouldn't do. Normally, she'd simply tough it out but it seemed she now how little choice in the matter.

“Now, Madame, you must move the hand so I may treat your wound.”

Rosie obliged without trying to argue. Or talk in general. She’d learned early on that Curie was adamant on proper treatment when it came to injuries. While Curie worked, she tooked the opportunity to try and look over her gun. It had jammed while fighting the ghoul. Since losing her combat knife in the battle with the monstrous beast Preston had very aptly called a ‘deathclaw’, her old service pistol, Love Tap, had been her sole weapon. Carefully, she pulled the jammed clip out and tried to look over what had occurred. Eyes narrowing, she fought to focus with her poor eyesight.

“Mum?” Codsworth prompted again.

“Yes, Codsworth?”

“Would you like some assistance?”

“I-....yes. Thank you.”

To her surprise, Codsworth tapped something on the pipboy strapped to her arm and the gloomy room was suddenly filled with a steady greenish light. His metal claw tapped at the clip, “There is a bullet that has expanded here. It appears to be the cause of the jam, mum. Would you like assistance in removing it?”

Rosie handed him the clip with a slight nod, “If you could. I’m afraid that I can’t see very well even with the light. The, hm, fine details are a little much for me.”

Codsworth chuckled, “Nonsense, mum. I have faith that you could build turrets blindfolded.”

Pulling a spare clip from one of the pouches on her leg, she clipped it into Love Tap as she gave a tired but thoughtful mutter, “...nonsense.”

* * *

 

 

~/_\~   
[Hancock]

 

Although Hancock was Mayor, he was often known to take strolls that lead him away from Goodneighbor. Sometimes a stroll would last for a few hours, and other times it would last for a few weeks. It helped him stay sharp and let his enemies lower their guard.

It was one of the few times he would leave Fahrenheit back at state house to watch the place in his stead. He missed her charming personality and bad jokes, but it gave him the opportunity to go places only a ghoul could go. It was his second day out when he came across the most godamn beautiful woman he’d seen since yesterday's old porno mags. Silently, he observed her while hiding himself in the shadow of the opposite building from where she was collapsed.

One of her arms was draped over a rather large but healthy looking dog and the other was over her lap with a pretty looking pistol that had fallen from her grip.  At first look, he thought she was dead, but as he stared he could see the steady but shallow rise and fall of her chest. Not really a good place to take a nap if he was one to judge.

“Monsieur! Oh, please, sir! Can you help?” A white Handy robot floated towards him. He’d somehow missed it while observing the woman and dog.

A second robot joined the first from around the corner. “Miss Curie, that’s another ghoul my dear, not a human. Don’t approach it. The miss is in no condition to fight right now.”

Hancock felt the familiar stab of annoyance as he drawled, “I’ve no intention of attacking you, long as you don’t attack me.”

The white robot spun in place, “See, Monsieur Codsworth! He will not harm us. You must learn to be more trusting.”

Hancock bit back a snort. Learning to be more trusting was the last thing anyone needed in the wasteland.  

Codsworth floated forward to join Curie and muttered to itself, “Never met one that talks before. Mum did say that Preston told her not all ghouls were feral.” The robot spoke up in a jovial tone, “Sorry good sir! We meant no offence by our earlier words.”

Hancock slung his shotgun over his shoulder and stood, “Ah, none taken. I’m used to it. What seems to be the trouble?”

Curie gave a little whirr as her lower half twirled to change direction and she floated over to the woman, “Madame was injured in a fight with the ferals, sir. She became lost on her way to someplace called Diamond City yesterday and we tried to seek shelter in a nearby ruin when it grew dark. I have treated her injuries to the best of my abilities, but she took ill in the morning and I cannot determine the culprit.”

Hancock  approached and knelt beside the woman. Carefully, he offered his hand for the dog to sniff. The slow thumping wag of the dog’s tail was his reward. As he rubbed the dog’s ears he looked over the woman. Blood had soaked through most of her dark shirt and Hancock frowned as he peeled away the semi-dried rag to look at the wound, “This wound from ferals?”

“Yes, Monsieur. I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of information in my databanks on ghouls,” The robot chittered on while Hancock looked over the wound. He couldn’t help but tune the robot’s chatter out after a while and switched to studying the woman’s face. She wasn’t delicate or fragile looking by any means, but she held a sort of beauty that he’d only seen in pre-war pictures. Long lashes, freckles over nuka cola colored skin, and lips like the delicate petals of a tato flower. A nasty scar covered the right side of her face, but it looked old and well healed.

He moved the gun away from her hand and she didn’t stir.

Looking up to the robots he said, “I’m not a doctor but it might be radiation poisoning. I know a place nearby. Goodneighbor. Got a doctor there that might be able to help her.”

The dog gave a soft bark and wiggled out from under the woman’s arm. Hancock caught her before she fell all the way onto her side. Her head slumped forward and hit his shoulder, but even the movement didn’t wake her- a sure sign she was in a bad way. Another bark and a familiar jangle as a bag was dropped next to his feet, Hancock looked to the dog and then back to the bag. “What’s this pup?”

The butler robot answered, “Caps are currency, correct? I believe our Duke is attempting to pay you in return for your assistance. ...alarmingly smart dog, really...”

Hancock shook his head and hefted the woman into his arms, “Appreciate the gesture but it’s not needed. If she lives, I’ll talk about payment afterwards. Why don’t you pick up her stuff and follow me. My place isn’t too far from here.”

It wasn’t too long before he had to set the woman down momentarily and pop a buffout. She wasn’t exactly heavy, but he wasn’t used to hauling injured dames across town. If he was honest with himself, he wasn’t exactly clear on why he was doing it, but here he was, pushing the gate to goodneighbor open with his shoulder and striding down the alley past the shops.

Fahrenheit was at his side before he’d even passed KL-E-0’s.

“Another rescue? You really do love strays,” She chuckled as she looked over the group. The robots trailed behind him like mirelurk hatchlings and the dog had been stuck like glue to his side. Fahr's eyes were bright and quick as she shot him a raised brow. Hancock gave her a grin and he shifted his grip on the woman, “Oh you know me, by the people, for the people.”

Her only response was an amused snort as she deterred a few bystanders who looked to be eyeing the robots. Several of the street watch patrollers took it upon themselves to open the doors to the memory den where the only doctor in town resided and Hancock stepped into the building's gloom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to work through some writer's block. I know the chapter is short but I hope it's worth it... yeah? 
> 
> Also a little side note: I've actually done that to a ghoul. I laughed so hard that my character nearly died when she was swarmed by some other ghouls. This is probably one of the most terrifying but hilarious things I've seen in this game. (having a monster lose a limb but still chase you?= scary as hell.)  
> [Edits made 3-3-17]


	4. Would’ja Look At That

* * *

 

~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

Rosie woke slowly to the sound of soft classical music.

“Ah, you’re awake.” A female voice spoke from nearby, “I want you to take it slowly now, your system has been through quite a lot.”

Rosie turned her head to look at the woman who spoke. The blurry figure seemed mostly clean cut and appeared to be wearing a white coat of some sort. Turning her head, she stared up at the ceiling again and licked her lips to try and wet them. She’d given away the last of her water the day before to a man she’d found sitting on the ground begging for something to drink. In hindsight, probably a poor decision but it was the least she could do for the poor soul. For any of these poor souls.

 _At least it wasn’t another diseased molerat bite_ , she thought to herself. That fever had been a bitch and a litter without the cure. Not to mention the doctor had told her that it would be a week or two before it was safe to operate on her eyes. Something about her ability to heal being hampered too much from the illness. Easier if he didn't know the truth on that one but she wasn't willing to give up that secret just yet.

The doctor came to stand over her, “Would you like to sit up?”

The doctor’s voice reminded her of her aunt. Rough, businesslike, but still kind.  A small pang of sadness tugged at her chest as she wondered what had happened to her favorite relative. It had only been a few days since she’d visited her aunt’s coffee shop… well, a few days before the bombs fell. It had been her first time leaving the house since she's started walking again. It had felt strange. Too many people were happy to pretend there was no war and more people stared when they caught sight of the scars and limp. But that was the past... and this was now.

Instead of speaking, Rosie gave a small but curt nod. Strong small hands helped her sit up and a cup of water was pressed to her mouth.

“Your robots have been wonderful in assisting with cleaning my lab,” The woman spoke conversationally.

Rosie felt the ghost of a smile and after the cup was pulled from her lips she rasped out, “Indeed. I hope they... we haven’t been too much trouble.”

“Oh no, they’ve been wonderful. Though they have been quite worried about you. It’s a wonderful bond they seem to have with you.”

Rosie nodded again.

“Would you perhaps sell one to me?”

The frown that formed over Rosie’s face came faster than a radiation storm, “They own themselves and go where they please. I would not sell them because they are not slaves to be sold. And… Codsworth is family. I’d only part with him if it was his desire to do so.”

The doctor hm’ed and moved away as she spoke, “That’s a very interesting viewpoint. Not many others would share it.”

Rosie’s eyes followed the blurry figure now with distrust, “Indeed.”

 

* * *

 

~/_\~  
[Hancock]

 

 Hancock adjusted his hat for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning. It was the fourth day since bringing the woman back before he received news of her waking and much improved health. Since there wasn’t much to do with the day besides shoot up or jerk off, he’d decided to head down and visit her.

He gave a soft knock on the doorframe of Dr. Amari’s lab before walking in.

The woman he’d rescued didn’t look his way and it tickled him to see that she still wore the pair of dark mirrored shades he'd found her with indoors. The doctor shot him a look from where she sat at her terminal, “Ah, Mayor Hancock, I didn’t expect you.”

Hancock gave her a bright smile, “Just came to see how our rescue is fairing.”

The woman he’d rescued stood and he was surprised to see that she was actually slightly taller than him. Not that he was tall, mind you, but he never expected her to almost tower over him. Her head cocked to the side and she offered her hand, “I have been informed you were my rescuer. My thanks, Mr. Mayor.”

He hesitated. Not many would simply offer a hand to a ghoul. Moreso when he got the impression that this person and their robots had very little in the way of ghoul encounters. He couldn't help but loose a small grin while taking her offered hand and giving it a firm shake, “My pleasure really. As long as you don’t cause trouble, you’re welcome here.”

When her hand dropped away, he roubbed his fingers together absently while thinking over how her hands had felt. They'd been soft. Almost too soft. His thumb had brushed a mass of scars on the top and he could feel she had worker's fingers but there had been a strange silken smoothness to the skin. 

Her head turned to where one of her robots was fussing over some lab equipment. “Of course, Mr Mayor. Wouldn’t dream of causing trouble.”

Hancock chuckled, “Now let’s stop being so formal- It’s Hancock. Can’t believe you’re already on your feet. How’re you feeling?”

“.......”

She looked back in his direction and her head tilted again before she said, “Sorry, what?”

If he’d had brows they would have been in his hairline as he repeated himself, “I asked how you are feeling.”

She absently checked over her gun, “Oh, …alright.”

He rolled his eyes, this woman was positively chatty. Steeling himself, he pressed on, “Good to hear, I was hoping you'd be willing to take a little job for me.”

Her head turned slowly up to look at him and he felt a laser like focus settle on him. Pretty lips formed a tight line and he raise a hand to ward off whatever she might say, “You don’t owe me for bringing you here. It’s a paying job. I'm just searching for someone to scout out an area that’s rumored to have gone silent. Not a good neighborhood, but I need to know if trouble is brewing that might threaten Goodneighbor. I figured that between your robots, your dog, and yourself, you might be capable.”

The gun came back out of it’s holster and she checked it over again. He noticed that she didn’t seem to look at the gun so much as feel over it with her hands. The motion seemed habitual more than anything else but it still set him on edge a little. This woman was peculiar for sure. Soft hands but a habit with a hard looking gun. That never boded well.

After a moment, she holstered her gun and nodded. “I accept.” She turned away from him and stretched out her arm, “Codsworth, can I have your assistance pulling up the map?”

Hancock wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed it before- a dusty pipboy was clasped on her arm. That... changed things. It certainly explained the soft hands, though he'd never met a vault dweller who seemed as familiar with a weapon. Of course, one never really knew when it came to vaults. There had been rumors over the past few years that the vaults had been more like experiment chambers than safehouses. Yet, that only made the woman more dangerous since one could never know what her vault had been like. Definitely explained being unfamiliar with ghouls. Might mean she was unfamiliar with other thigns as well but he'd stepped to far in to back out now.

The robot butler floated over and tapped a few buttons to bring up a map of the commonwealth before saying, “If you just tap the location it will mark it, Mr. Mayor Sir.”

It took a few tries to get the location marked correctly. He was only vaguely aware of the location. Although he explored quite often, he’d yet to actually visit that area in question and only had reports to go by. When he was done, she lowered her arm and turned to the doctor, “Dr. Amari, is there any chance that I could leave some of my gear here temporarily?”

The doctor nodded and returned her attention to the terminal but the woman didn’t move. Codsworth spoke softly, “She has nodded, mum.”

Her brows scrunched for a minute before she nodded in acknowledgement to Codsworth, “Thank you. I should return by this evening, Mr. Mayor… Hancock.”

With that, she pushed past Hancock and disappeared up the stairs. Hancock watched as the robots followed after her. When he looked back, he found that Dr. Amari was standing nearby watching the procession as well.

Hancock raised a nonexistent brow at her, “What the hell just happened?”

Amari shook her head, “That poor girl is near blind. My equipment isn’t made for fixing people you know. Nothing I can do for her. Strange girl really.”

Hancock frowned, “Blind? You’re shittin’ me. How does--  Shit… and I just sent her out to a dangerous area...”

The doctor shrugged and headed back to her terminal, “She seems to be able to take care of herself. Out of curiosity, when you found her did you get a name?”

Annoyance and surprise ate at his belly when he realized that he hadn’t.  He shook his head. “Naw. The dame was out cold when I found her and the robots called her ‘Madam’ and ‘mum’.” He looked towards the doorway as he spoke the last part mostly to himself, “Never thought to ask for a name.”

 

* * *

 

~(***)~  
[Codsworth] 

 

Codsworth carefully wiped his saw clean on the body of the gunner he’d killed. It wouldn’t do to go to pieces and become a mess now, but he was not sure he approved of mum’s incessant need to poke her nose into everything and anything. When he’d asked why she felt the need to enter the Mass Fusion building, she’d simply shrugged and said, “They shot at me. Plus… Jack used to work here…”

Overall Codsworth couldn’t understand why she needed to cling to the past. Sure, she’d loved her younger cousin, Jack, but it’s been over 200 years since the bombs fell. If they found the boy, he’d either be feral or very dead. Codsworth hoped for the latter. Mum’s reaction to finding her mother’s necklace on a feral ghoul had been upsetting enough. More-so because since then, she’d carefully checked and had him look over every ghoul they killed to see if it had been someone they knew. For every ghoul checked he could see the signs of fear as she braced herself for finding more loved ones turned monster. If he had any organs he was sure he'd feel like he was tearing them apart. As it was, he was pretty sure that the ugly feeling in his chassis was just a loose wire.

“Madame? Without climbing equipment that is very inadvisable,” Curie said from nearby in an alarmed tone. Codsworth rounded to corner to see Ms. Stone scaling the wall of the elevator shaft with a determined expression. 

Oh, how Codsworth momentarily wished that the indomitable mistress had not returned. Yet the feeling was quickly squashed as he puttered over to assist in either talking her down or keeping her from falling to her death.

 

* * *

 

~/_\~  
[Hancock]

 

 

It was two days before the woman finally returned.

Hancock spent most of that time pacing and fighting with the foolish worry that he’d sent the woman to her death. Fahrenheit had left to ‘run some errands’ but Hancock knew she was just sick of his grumping about and pacing. His usually mellow bodyguard was annoyed at his obsession and she wasn’t afraid to tell him he was being stupid.  Hell, _he_ knew he was being stupid.

As the sun set and Hancock prepared to unplant himself from the couch and head down to the third rail to get as plastered as possible, in walked the dame who’d been on his mind since the day he’d found her. She set down a piece of paper on the table beside his couch and slid it towards him. “The building was full of Raiders and… a very strange man who liked to paint with blood.” She looked away from him and muttered to herself, “…had to toss my other boots, that fucking _smell_ would never come out of the leather...”

Hancock picked the paper up and grunted, “Huh. …thanks. Guess that explains... something.” He slid a box of caps, a tin of mentats, and as an added bonus some jet towards her, “Here. As payment.”

She stared down at the pile for an uncomfortable amount of time before slowly accepting it with a nod. “Thank you. …I hear there is an establishment in the lower levels that offers food. Can I offer to buy you dinner?”

Hancock blinked before laughing, “Isn’t that supposed to by my line, doll?”

She shrugged but he could see a smile playing on her lips, “I do owe you for saving my life. If you would like to join me for dinner, I need to wash up first. Shall I meet you here in, say… thirty minutes?”

Hancock grinned and leaned back on his couch. “Take your time, doll. If you wanna use my restroom down the hall you can.” He gestured with a loose wave towards the hall as a smirk won it’s way onto his face.  

The woman nodded only to freeze mid movement as her head gave a curious tilt. “You have running water?”

Hancock shrugged. “Purifier on the roof collects rainwater and sends it down to Charlie. Perk of being mayor is some of it is diverted here. Not that it matters much to me. I mostly let guests use it.”

“...who is Charlie?”

“Ah, the bartender down at the Third Rail. You’ll meet him when we go down for dinner.”

She gave another nod before patting at her side to get her dog to come over.

“Duke,” She knelt down next to the dog and spoke softly, “Can you go fetch a clean outfit from my gear in the Memory Den?”

The dog barked and gave a happy wag before bounding off. The woman stood and disappeared down the hall. Hancock took a hit of jet and grinned lazily at the ceiling, this evening was turning out to be very interesting.

The soft click of the dog’s claws on the wood floor woke Hancock from the cat-nap he’d slipped into. He watched with barely opened eyes as Duke trotted down the hall with a bundle in his mouth and wag of his tail. Not long after, the woman stepped out of the bathroom with the dog on her heels. Her black hair was unpinned for the first time since he’d met her; soft, black, wavy curls that fell past her shoulders. How she kept it so well maintained was mystifying. Not many wastelanders would put so much effort into haircare. Hell, a majority of the ghouls in goodneighbor wore old wigs found in the theater basement and that was about as close as anyone came to caring.

He let his eyes drift over her. She wore a soft pink colored dress that might make even Magnolia jealous with the added bonus that it was still in relatively great condition. Hancock couldn’t help but let his eyes roam and linger as he took in the sight. The dress hugged her waist and flared just right at the hips. One sleeve was gone, offering him the view of a beautifully toned but scared arm. From under the side with a sleeve he could see what might be a tattoo but he couldn’t be sure; he’d never seen one so clean looking. A tear along the side of the skirt showed a great deal of thigh and interestingly enough, a holster for her gun. A silver chain was around her neck and it trailed down to a pair of jugs that pressed at the fabric of the blouse and set his imagination roaming. He pushed aside a twinge of disappointment that flared when he realized that she was still wearing her sunglasses and pipboy as he stood from the couch to offer her his arm.

A smile flickered over her face, “And here I thought manners were a thing of the past.” She gestured at his arm with a slight sweep of her hand, “but unless you want my pipboy bruising you, I suggest you offer me the other arm.”

Hancock shifted his stance and offered her his other arm instead with a shit eating grin plastered over his face. With an almost unnatural grace and no hesitation with touching a ghoul, she slid her arm around his.

“Shall we?”

 

~*~

 

 

Hancock woke in the morning to Fahrenheit filling him in on the news as she pilfered some of his cigarettes off the table. He’d fallen asleep on the couch again after sharing a drink with the woman whose name he’d yet to learn. His hip had that bruising ache that could only mean he was partially sitting on one of his stashed guns. Shifting, he tried to shake off the lingering remnants of sleep and find a more comfortable spot to settle in.

“Did you catch that, or should I repeat myself?” Fahrenheit asked while blowing a ring of smoke that drifted lazily above them.

Hancock ran a hand down his face, “Wasn’t really awake. Wha’d you say?”

“That gal you’ve been wanking over this past week? She left early this morning. Hired that Maccready kid and booked. Irma said something about her leaving to look for that detective, Nick Valentine. Some sort of personal matter. Didn’t say more but both Irma and Amari looked a little shaken.  Apparently, the woman had already been trying to head to diamond city to find information.”

Hancock tried to ignore the bitter feeling that crawled over his tongue and into his brain with the news. He’d never expected her to stay but he hadn’t expected her to leave so soon either.  His head hit the back of the couch as he slumped to stare at the ceiling. After a few minutes a scrap of paper was waved in his face.

“I SAID, she left you this. Irma was asked to give it to you.”

Hancock frowned and grabbed the paper. Not many in the commonwealth could read and write. One more interesting fact about the dame with no name.

Looking over the paper he realized it was folded like a flower. Raising a brow he shared a look with Fahrenheit and began to unfold it. The handwriting was damn near the fanciest thing he’d ever seen but still readable.

__

_John,_

_Sorry to leave without a goodbye. Thanks for the rescue._

_See you around?_

_R._

__

Hancock stared at it for a few moments before folding it back up, placing it in his jacket’s breast pocket, and lighting a cigarette.

An interesting dame indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Edited 3-3-17]


	5. Where To, Boss?

* * *

 

~\o/~ 

[Maccready]

 

Maccready watched as the knife his new boss had borrowed as it danced and flipped in her hands.

“Hey, boss. How’d you learn to do that?” He asked after a few minutes of biting back his curiosity. He’d seen a few raiders try something similar but none of them had made it look so… majestic. More-so when they usually ended up bleeding or just stabbing someone with it.

She glanced at him and the knife stopped its constantly controlled flip and tumble routine while she thought, “Picked it up when I was... younger. I was, hm… stuck somewhere and bored. One of my team was a specialist who prefered knives taught me some tricks. Not a bad man, really. …told good stories. Cooked a mean steak.”

It was strange how she seemed to pause and think over how to phrase things and he could tell that she wasn’t telling the whole truth. He didn’t mind- everyone was entitled to their own secrets as long as it didn’t get a knife in his back or take the caps from his pocket. He took another careful bite from the food she’d given him when they’d stopped for lunch. Not many employers fed the mouths they hired. Then again most people weren’t strange mungo women rescued by the Mayor of Goodneighbor with two robots and an annoyingly smart dog.

He eyed her warily as he ate. There was a heavy expectation that this was all some elaborate trap. Pretty women don’t survive in the wasteland by being nice, but so far she’d made no move to harm him. Live and let live, right?

Eyes drifting he looked over the rest of the group. Nearby, the dog was worrying something that smelled similar to the jerkied ragstag she’d given out for lunch. The robots were powered down in the corner and the boss sat at the edge of the roof overlooking the streets below as her hand resumed its actions with the knife. He hadn’t failed to notice that she only ate a small portion compared to what she’d given him.

After the silence had stretched too long, he shifted nervously and asked, “Bet it’s good in a fight, yeah?”

Once again her hand stopped and her sunglass covered eyes tilted down towards the knife as a perplexed look crossed her face, “Hm? This? …no. Entertainment only, really. Helps you connect your mind with your fingers though. Nimble fingers can be useful.”

She bent and picked up a flat rock from the ground and Maccready watched as it rolled over her flexing fingers before she then clenched her fist over the stone. When she opened her hand, the stone was gone. She met his eyes and grinned like a ghouled dog before reaching over with her other hand and pulling the same stone from his pocket.  

He frowned at her and his brows drew close together, “What…?”

A dry chuckle escaped her, “Old trick. My pa used to play it on me. …a long time ago.”

The smile faded and she returned to staring out over the nuke blasted land but the knife no longer danced.

 

* * *

 

~[o]~  
[Piper]

 

 

Piper was a royal sort of steamed.

The gate to Diamond City had been closed tight- something that only happened with Supermutant raides or that rare time that a deathclaw came wandering down the street. To her annoyance, and great relief, that wasn’t the reason they’d closed the gate **_this_** time.

“AARGH, you open this gate right now, Danny Sullivan! I _LIVE_ here. You can’t just lock me out!” She snarled as fear coursed through her. Being on the wrong side of the gate and away from Nat was making her antsy- she’d stepped out for a minute to meet a contact who'd never showed and coming home to _THIS_ hadn’t been in her day plan.

She was shaking from anger as she heaved an angry huff. The crunch of boots behind her drew her attention away from the stubbornly silent intercom. Behind her stood the strangest group. Maccready seemed to have found an employer- good for him. Piper thought the kid was a little on the rough side but he was a good enough sort. For a meal he'd even passed her some info once or twice. Standing in front of him was a woman, two robots, and a dog that was currently chewing the stuffing out of an old teddybear.

“Hey Piper,” He said with a nod, “The gate’s closed. …Supermutants coming?”

The woman with him shifted. Head tilting towards the merc as she asked, “Super Mutant?”

Piper’s eyebrows went up, “Uh… yeah? Big, green, and mean? Don’t tell me you’ve never seen one before.”

The woman’s mouth formed a tight line, “Haven’t had the pleasure.”

Maccready shifted his rifle’s strap, “So do we need to find cover or not, Pipes?”

Piper shook her head, “No. They locked the door on me because of my new article.” She gave an innocent shrug and pursed her lips, “Apparently, the Mayor didn’t like something I said.”

“Hm,” The woman walked over to the intercom, “Excuse me, I have trading to do- how long do you intend to keep the gate shut?”

The mayor’s voice piped over the intercom, “ _I’m sorry--_ ” hoo-boy he sure didn’t sound it-- “ _but we’re having a slight situation. Traveler, I may be able to offer you some caps if you can get this devious rabble rouser off our doorstep_.” It was amazing that his voice could go from smooth to angry and back again so quickly.

Piper watched the woman nervously and glanced at Maccready. His mouth was set in a tight line and he was watching his employer tensely. That certainly wasn’t a good sign.

The woman slipped the pack from her shoulder, holding it aloft with one arm as she spoke into the intercom, “...Alright.”

Piper edged her hand towards her gun, this situation seemed to be going poorly. Damn, it had started as SUCH a good day. The woman looked to her and placed a finger over her lips before pulling out a rather gorgeous pistol. If Piper wasn't mildly afraid for her life she would have maybe appreciated it more. The woman unscrewed the silencer and held the gun near the intercom. Two shots into the ground and she dropped her pack with a heavy thump.

“Done. Now open the gate,” She said softly.

Piper stared at the woman like a dying fish. The woman had just fake-murdered her to gain entry to the City.  She wasn’t exactly sure what she found more upsetting though- the fact that the woman had gone along with it or the fact that the gate was starting to open. It pointed to a surefire sign that it wasn’t very safe for Piper to be in Diamond City.

As the gate began to roll upwards the woman picked up her pack and looked at Piper, “He’ll get wise. You should go in before they close the gate on you again.”

Piper gave her a shaky grin, “Shouldn’t that be my line?”

The woman shrugged and ducked under the opening gate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Edited 3-3-17]


	6. Where, Oh, Where Has My Valentine Gone

* * *

 

  ~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

Rosie leaned against the wall of the newsstand.

“Hey, lady. Ya read the newest paper?”

Rosie looked to the kid who was standing on an old cinder block and waving a scrap of paper. Grungy bomber jacket and pink painted welding goggles complimented the kid’s old sneakers. A bundle of tough, wrapped into an adorable tiny package.

She looked away to watch the street as she answered, “No.”

The kid hopped down from the block and held out a paper, “Free paper to newcomas. If ya get snatched by the institute- can’t sa’ we didna warn ya.”

“Hm,” Rosie accepted the paper hesitantly- a slight frown pulling over her face like someone might accept the gift of a dead rat. “Institute?” She asked as she held the offering. She wasn't about to tell the kid she couldn't see the damn paper well enough to read it. Then again, maybe Codsworth could read it for her. 

“Ya haven’ hea’d of the Institute, lady?”

Rosie pulled her cigarettes from the pocket of her shirt and lipped the first to come up when she tapped the squishy pack. She talked around the cigarette as she hunted for her matches, “Nuh, kiddo. Enlighten me.”

“They sna'ch people up in tha night and no one hea’s from ‘em again, sometimes they… Piper! You’re back!”  The kid’s eyes alighted on the red jacketed woman that Rosie had met at the gate. Rosie had to bite back a laugh as the ‘tough boston’ accent dropped as soon as Piper came into view. The kid careened into Piper and Rosie watched as they hugged for a few brief seconds before Piper pulled away. Both faces were bright with smiles though the kid seemed to be trying to hide hers.

Rosie’s hand finally found the matches and the satisfying hiss reached her ears as the first one lit immediately. Two hundred years and although the cig tasted like shit, at least the matches had no issues.

“Heeey kiddo. How’s sales?”

Rosie pulled a small pouch of caps from a pocket and set it on the nearby table littered with the scrappy looking newspapers, “She was just making a sale. Thanks for the paper, kid.”

 

* * *

 

~[o]~  
[Piper]

 

Piper paced nervously.

She’d managed to ask the strange woman to come talk to her if she had a free minute but that had been hours ago and all she’d gotten was a wave over the shoulder and hint of a nod. Had she misinterpreted it? Had the woman simply said yes just to get rid of her? It’s not like it didn’t happen all the time but this time it was _important_ that she talk to the woman.

Biting the pad of her thumb, she looked to where Nat was quietly playing with her toys. She'd already talked a little with her sister on why she'd packed some supplies and might have to leave. The latest paper had caused a real stir. Maybe more than she’d intended but she just wanted the truth _OUT_ there. People would listen if you shouted loud and long enough right? But... would it be safer to leave? If people were so stirred, would they come after Piper again? Would they go after Nat if they couldn’t get to her? It's not like it hadn't happened to her before but the mayor had scared her this time. A part of her felt the sharp edge of doubt like a shiv pressed uncomfortably close to a vital organ. Maybe she'd gone too far?

Rubbing her brow she grabbed a Nuka Cola from the counter and flopped onto the couch. It sank under her weight like her mood being crushed below her self doubt. Instead of dwelling, she decided to focus on the woman. She'd been strange. Probably a fresh vault kid but Piper had never met one who handled weapons quite the way the woman did. Hell, she’d never met a wastelander like her either. There was a cut and dry harshness that was unusual. People in the wasteland were usually mean. Sometimes meticulous. But there was a difference. It was subtle, but it was there. You spend your life learning how to pry open 'people' and you learn how to spot those differences. 

Her eyes drifted to the tiny bag of caps that the woman had given Nat. It was WAY too much for a paper, who the hell does shit like that but a vault idiot who doesn’t know the value. Nat had counted it out and they’d found it to be eighty seven caps. If Piper wasn’t here, that would last Nat close to two months of food, water, toys, and more. Much more if paper sales were good.

But could she leave her little sister alone?

A soft knock at the door had Piper reaching for her pistol just as the door was pushed open. The strange woman leaned against the frame, arms crossed and hands hidden in her big black jacket as she spoke, “... are you going to shoot me, Miss Piper? Seems counterproductive.” From where the woman's hand was hidden, Piper suspected that it was near some sort of weapon. At least the Valutie wasn't naive. Too many blue suited newbies could be found face down in a ditch because they didn't know to be careful.

Piper’s hand dropped away from where her pistol lay on the table and she gestured to the unoccupied part of the couch. “Sorry, Blue, care to sit?”

The woman blatantly ignored the dropped nickname as she shook her head and took a few steps into the room. “Busy night. Have to leave soon.”

Behind her, Maccready took her place of leaning against the doorway. His blue eyes sharp as he shifted in a way that allowed him to watch both the townspeople outside and his new boss. Setting her unopened Nuka Cola on the table, Piper stood. “Listen, Blue, I’ll speak plain- You heard the Mayor. But instead of actually chasing me off or...” she paused and took a shaky breath at the memory, “or killing me- you helped. That tells me you’re not all bad. I’m thinking it might be best if I skip town for a while till things die down. Not sure what you’re up to, but it seems like it’ll be a great story. I was hoping you needed another gun at your back--” She glanced at Maccready-- “uh, no charge of course.”

The woman’s brow went up high enough that the prim lines could be seen above her sunglasses, but she stayed silent and looked towards where Nat was peeking around the corner. Piper rubbed the back of her neck and gave her sister reassuring smile before looking back at Blue, “That, and I think that your story would print well. A good reporter will do anything for an interview right?”

Silence stretched as Blue remained still as a statue. Eventually, it was Maccready who spoke up, “Hey, boss? We need to go soon, right?”

That seemed to snap the woman out of whatever thought process she’d been lost in as she nodded, “Fine. … What about your daughter?”

Piper grinned, “Nat. My sister.” Her gaze was pulled back toward Nat as she spoke, “She’ll be okay. I’m not going to be gone forever.”

 _I hope_ , she added silently.

“I see.” The woman turned fully towards Nat and knelt down to her level as she spoke, “Nat? With your permission, I would like to borrow your sister. I will try to keep her safe and make sure she comes home as often as possible. But in return--” the woman reached into one of the many pockets her jacket seemed to have and pulled out a large silver locket with a pearl set in the front and gold filigree flowers decorating the edges-- “I would ask that you guard this for me until I return your sister to you. Do you agree to these terms?”

Nat glanced at Piper before stretching out her hand with a tiny frown, “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Author's note: Decided to try and write a slight boston tough gal accent for Nat. Not sure I succeeded but the idea was cute in my head? maybe? I know this chapter is short. I had it written so I figured 'why not'. Also, Sorry- I know the chapter title is about Valentine but I decided not to write that interaction. All Rosie's bartering and talking to people about the detective is done 'off screen' so to say. ]


	7. Knight in Shining Sunglasses

* * *

  
 ~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

Rosie checked over and cleaned her gun at the small workstation the alleyway settlement had come with.

“Mum? Are you sure this is wise?”

She looked up to see the silver form of codsworth nearby. His limbs seemed to fidget slightly as the blobs of his eyestalks glanced around. Clicking the last piece of her gun into place, she ran her hand over the frame one last time before holstering it, “I need someone here to make sure the raiders don’t come back. You and Curie can watch the area, and I’ve asked Curie to work on a project while I go with the others and rescue this Detective Valentine. Too many people will draw too much attention to us, Codsworth, and I need you here.” Her hand absently tapped the workstation to illustrate her point.

Codsworth bobbed the robot imitation of a nod as he spoke, “Understood, Mum. Do be careful, yes?”

“Of course, Codsworth honey. ...You too, alright? I’m counting on you and Curie to watch after each other.”

 

* * *

 

~ ♥ ~  
[Nick Valentine]

 

Valentine crossed his arms over his chest and tried to fight back the electric surge of annoyance that was plaguing him. Dino had come back for his regular obnoxious chat session. Bastard was a regular, but a regular what?

“Pain in the crack of my metal ass,” Valentine muttered to himself.

The brute leaned against the glass and leered, “How ya doin’ in there Valentine? Feelin’ hungry? Wanna snack?”

Valentine could actually _smell_ the reek of booze and stale tobacco through the door. Why a robot needed to be able to smell was frankly one of life’s mysteries he’d never be able to solve. It was difficult to keep the annoyance from showing after the last few days of badgering and boredom. He’d had to resort to reading books in old memories to keep the _taedium vitae_  of it all at bay. A skill he was glad he’d almost perfected even if it just served to remind him he wasn’t human.  

A flicker of movement caught his already wandering attentions. Behind Dino on the far side of the room one of the doors had opened. Through it crept a sweet little dish who was very obviously not part of skinny malone’s gang.  In her shadow were others. A dog that seemed familiar, that annoying reporter Piper, and that Maccready mercenary he’d seen hanging out in Goodneighbor.

A rescue?

He had to distract Dino.

“Keep talkin’ meathead. It gives skinny Malone more time to think about how he’s gonna bump you off,” Valentine snapped.

Dino’s eyes focused on him through the glass and an ugly leer formed over his face. Bastard thought he’d finally gotten under Nick’s skin. Oh’ho boy was he in for a surprise. Nick watched as the woman made a quick gesture and everyone hid behind crates as she flickered out of view.

Damn if that wasn’t impressive.

Musta had a stealthboy. Either that or one of his eye wires were loose again. Wouldn’t be the first time. Instead of dwelling on it, he snarled another threat at Dino. When the drunk rat-bastard opened his mouth to reply... nothing came out. He slumped like an unwanted sack against the glass and down. A small smear of fresh blood was left on the timeworn window.  Ink to an ended script leaking from the pages of their obnoxious life. There was a small stab of pity for the man before Nick squashed it like an obnoxious radroach.  

Before he could begin to wonder if they were really his rescue, the door gave a hydraulic hiss as it opened to an empty catwalk.

“Well, color me impressed,” He muttered while lighting a cig. It was habit mostly but the habit alone helped calm him down.

Empty air greeted him for only a moment longer than her was comfortable with before the dame shimmered into view with a pistol pointed at him. Her free hand was slipping a freshly cleaned knife back into a holster on her thigh.

“Detective Valentine?”

He narrowed his eyes and grunted an affirmative, “You’ve got the right man but if you’re here to kill-” The pistol lowered and she was already walking back out the door.

Over her shoulder she called, “Time to go, Detective. I can hear at least six more in the levels below--” Her steps faltered and she went quiet. The slightest tilt could be seen to her head before she visibly shook herself and began walking again as she spoke, “four coming this way, I think. ...fucking echoes... ”

“Huh,” He muttered as he stepped quickly to follow her, “Alright. Let's blow this joint. Then, I think I’ve got questions.” He tapped the cherry from the newly lit cig into the ground as he walked and shoved the partially used smoke into his breast pocket for later.

Descending the stairs, she gave a soft whistle and the dog trotted over to greet them. Now that he was closer, Nick definitely recognized the mutt and he put his hand out, “Hey, Dogmeat. Been a while, bud. Glad you seem to have found someone. Keepin out of trouble I hope?”

The dog wagged his tail and gave a soft woof.

The woman tapped her thigh and knelt, “Duke, I need you to guide me. It echoes too much for me and I’m having trouble. Can you do that, boy?”

The dog gave a soft snort and planted himself next to her thigh. Nick had forgotten how strangely smart that dog was. It had been ages since he’d come across the mutt while looking for a lost doll for a distressed junkie. It had been a brief ‘partnership’ but the dog had been the only reason he’d found it in the end. Still hadn't gotten paid for that job come to think of it...

Nick pulled himself back to the present and raised a brow, “Duke? That’s a nice name.”

The woman placed a hand on the dog's harness, “Lead on. But remember to stay quiet, boy.”

In her  somewhat crouched position, she glanced over her shoulder and the slightest view of her eyes could be seen before it was nothing but mirrored shades facing his way. Lashes and cat eye makeup. He hadn’t seen a dame like that beyond the implanted memories that lingered in his wired brain. Then a flash of reflected light and she was facing away again.  

“Hey Nicky,” Piper said as she fell into step with him, “How’ve you been?”

Nick flashed the reporter a tense grin, “Oh, just peachy. Locked up in that damn room long enough to start questioning if my dogs were still barking… hey, you wouldn’t happen to have a spare heater on you, would ya?”

Piper’s eyebrow raised and she pointed to his left.

Turning his head he saw the dame who’d rescued him holding out a pistol. Her free hand had one finger delicately extended over her full lips. When she’d come up to him, he didn’t know.

He took the pistol and glanced over it. An old .44 like every dick used to carry ages back.

The irony was not lost on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I realized that everyone may not know this but the slang term for a Detective was 'Dick'. So.... yeah  
> Translations:  
>  _taedium vitae:_ Latin for weariness of life (aka he's bored.)  
>  [Edited 3-3-17. Should have translations that activate if you hover a mouse over them]


	8. Hero Complex

 

* * *

 

~ ♥ ~  
[Nick Valentine]

They stood in an old alley.

Well, stood was an optimist’s view of looking at it. In reality they crouched in the trash and the filth as they caught their breath and waited. The dame had pulled an impressive stunt. When the last door had opened to reveal Skinny Malone and his group of armed thugs it had meant big trouble. Then the lady of mysterious ident had flickered out of view.  She'd appeared to ditch her rag-tag group until the moment that she reappeared beside the rotund gangster.

“You’re going to let them walk out or I’m going to make raiders envious of my artistry with all of your fleshbag bodies,” She’d purred in a dangerous tone. 

It had been one hell of a threat.

Valentine hadn’t been able to tell if it was a bluff to be honest. Either way, it had worked as even Malone’s new flame backed down. Oh, the bird hadn’t at first. She’d opened her mouth and found a large knife pressed just shy of her eye as the woman's cool tone turned to a snarl, “You have three seconds to decide, Mr. Malone. Or I wear your girl's face while I play in the puddles of your blood.”

A little gruesome for Nick's taste but that threat had done the job. Nothing but a soft whimper had escaped the shrill broad that Nick had been sent to 'rescue' as Malone barked his agreement to let them all leave before he counted to ten since ‘he owed Nick’.  Nick's rescuer had remained behind even as Malone started to give a shaky count. A nod of her head had told them all to beat feet but the action still sat heavy in Nick’s mechanical chest. No gunfire had been heard as he climbed the ladder but he still felt the pang of worry. It wasn't right to leave a broad alone like that. Hell, it wasn't right to leave a partner behind either- it didn't matter the gender. 

But mirrored shades never turned from their target. Didn't move from her post.

Piper glanced back down the manhole they’d crawled out of, “Think she knows the way?”

Maccready adjusted his cap with an unhappy frown, “Duke stayed behind. He know’s how to find us. She’ll be fine.”

The soft scuffle below them proved the mercenary right as the ‘she’ in question crawled up the ladder with the hefty mutt over her shoulder. As soon as she was high enough she hefted Duke upwards and he scrambled onto the ground.

Valentine offered her his hand.

Jerking back, she stared at at it for a moment before accepting. Her hand was ice cold but her grip was firm as he hefted her upwards. 

“I don’t bite, doll.” He said with a low chuckle. It always hurt to have people react to his being a synth. He'd never let on, but a part of him was bitter over it. 

Clearing her throat she muttered, “...couldn’t see it.” Her gaze hit the ground before she began dusting herself off and spoke in a louder voice, “I apologize. That display back there was sure to leave a poor impression but the bluff was necessary. Are you injured, Mr. Valentine?”

Her head swiveled slightly as she looked over him, “My apologies, but my eyesight is... very poor, so I cannot actually see if you are injured. ….Are you suffering blood loss? You look a little, uhm, pale...”

“ooooh boy,” Piper muttered under her breath as Maccready let off a soft amused snort.

Valentine tugged at the edges of his jacket and dusted himself off, “Aside from the ‘ol pride being wounded, I’m fine.” He tried to bite back the question that ran it’s course through his wires but when he opened his mouth he said it anyhow, “Are you actually saying you can’t see what I am?”

Her head was turned away- her gaze apparently elsewhere now, “No. But--” Her head cocked to the side and she brought her wrist up. A pipboy was on her arm and a little icon was flashing. Valentine could just barely hear it but she must had had some sort of earbud as it gave off a soft chirp that cut off whatever she had been about to say.

Her hands fumbled with the  dials for a moment before she huffed and looked around the group, “Apologies, but can one of you read what is on the screen?”

Piper edged forward, “Uh… Something about a distress beacon?”

The full lips pulled into a frown as the woman twisted one of the dials, “please tell me when the selector is over the notice?”

Click. Click. Click. “There,” Piper said.

Valentine could hear the faintest whisper of the message as it  began to play in her ear but it was too faint for him to actually make out. A few minutes passed before Piper began to shift anxiously.

“So… Blue, you gonna let us in on what it says?”

Piper’s hazel eyes darted between the mirrored shades and the pipboy.

Blue shifted her hips, the action revealing the knife on her thigh but her gaze never wavered from the far wall as she spoke, “Which way from here is Trinity tower?”

Valentine’s brow went up and Piper balked, “Blue, you don’t want to go there. You remember those super mutants you asked about? Mean, green, and ugly? Remember? A whole bunch are there. We _DON’T_ want to go there.” Behind them Maccready tugged at his hat with a frown and muttered, “Yeah, same way we didn’t want to go near the commons? See how _that_ worked out.”

A sour twist pulled at Piper’s mouth at the mention of the commons.

Stretching her arm back towards Piper, Blue spoke in a soft voice, “turn the dial at the top. Then please turn whichever has the volume symbol?” Her free hand came to pull away an earbud from her delicately sloped ear.

Shaky hands did at they were told and  after some fumbling a voice piped into the Alleyway.

“ _Help! or...Mayday! or… Whatever it is one says on a radio. My name is Rex Goodman. I’m being held prisoner on the top of Trinity tower._ ”

Valentine fought the urge to roll his eyes at the sound of the puffed up poppinjay's voice.

“ _I think the super mutants plan on eating me soon._ ”

“Probably,” Maccready muttered while hefting his gun on his shoulder. The strap was tight around his arm with how he held it. Tension could be seen down to the white knuckles of his hand-- the kid was a walking stick of nerves and Nick couldn't blame him.

_“Setting this to repeat. ...AW SHIT! One of the super mutants is coming! ……… Help! or… Mayd-”_

Blue fumbled at the dial and the voice cut silent just as the message began to repeat. As if on it's own accord, her hand snaked back up to place the earbud back into place.

“Which way. To Trinity Tower. Piper.” Blue asked again in a flat voice as she punctuated every word with the force of her question.

Piper gave a pained, scrunched expression before  gesturing, “South. Maybe southwest-ish. Not far from here. That broadcast probably doesn’t reach very far. No telling how long it’s been on repeat.”

Blue nodded, “I can meet you all back at Diamond City if you do not wish to come with me.” Her hands roved over her gun as she checked her clip. It was still full. Somehow, she’d made it in to rescue him without firing a shot. Didn’t mean she hadn’t killed anyone but it certainly made a statement. His eyes trailed down to the knife strapped to her thigh as he remembered Dino and some of the other's he'd passed on his way out. Clean cuts. Old Nick had seen that sort of precision with some of the old military people but no one really had that... trained killer instinct anymore. A strange thing to contemplate when you thought about the world's current state. People had their methods, yes, but a few years of detective work and you could see how the murders in today's world were different from the fuzzy yesterday in his implanted memories. 

Instead of simply dashing off in the vague southerly direction, Blue settled back against the wall of the alley. Sitting against the rough stone, she pulled out some containers from her pack. It wasn’t until Nick realized she had handed him some water that he took in what was happening. Piper covered her mouth to stifle a laugh and Macready let out another snort as Valentine held the bottle awkwardly, “Uh, doll, you’ll probably find you have more use for this than me.” They were once more back at the issue from before and damn the world if it didn’t taste a simulated sour.

Her head tilted upwards to him, “...my apologies. Would you prefer something else? ‘Fraid I sold most of the extra off in Diamond city but I can try to accommodate.”

He felt the tug of air as his internal fan kicked up and if he could have blushed he would have. Now, if only she would take back the water he'd feel like less of an ass. Piper snagged the bottle from him instead as he chewed over what to say.

“I guess there’s no beating around the bush," Nick muttered as he buried his hands in his trenchcoat. A hole in the pocket could be felt with his metal left hand. He'd have to fix that soon. "Since you claim to not be able to see me, I guess I have to explain. I’m made of metal. A synth. I don’t need food. ...or sleep for that matter.”

A hint of a frown pressed over her lips and she leaned to the side to dig in one of her pockets, “Are you in need of any items for repair? I keep spare parts for Codsworth and Curie. Think I’ve got a- aha-” She pulled out a small screwdriver and offered it to him. 

He stared at it briefly before accepting it in silence. It wasn't often that people could chase the words right out of him but she somehow had. There was no real telling what he’d expected but it wasn’t that. Never had someone been so ‘blindly’ alright with his being a synth.

Piper glanced between them while breaking into the package handed to her, “You know, Blue, I think that’s the most chatty you’ve been since we met. ...I didn't know you had trouble seeing with the way you shoot.”

Blue leaned back against the wall and took a sip of her own water, “Hm.”

Maccready rolled his eyes as Piper gave a long suffering sigh. 

Valentine couldn’t fight the chuckle at their reactions as he set to tightening some of the hinges in his metal hand, “Well, Ms. Blue, I hafta say, thank you for that rather timely rescue back there. The irony of the reverse damsel-in-distress scenario was not lost on me. ...but how’d you know where to find me?”

Her hand patted at her pockets before withdrawing a near empty pack of cigarettes. Tinted lips pulled the last one from the pack before it disappeared back into her pocket and her hand went in search of matches. Maccready nudged her arm with his own matchbook. “Here, boss. And you put them in your lower left pocket last time… you might have dropped them when you tripped over that cement bag though.”

A smile pressed at the corners of her lips for a moment, “Hm… is that where? Sorry. It’s been a while since I… traveled. … more used to having a lighter or using a power cell. You know, they say the taste is different if you use matches, but I never noticed a difference.” She accepted the matches from Maccready and soon a soft billow of smoke rolled from between her lips as she spoke, “not like you could notice it with how stale these are. Thanks.”

Valentine glanced at her. Cigarettes had been stale for hundreds of years. It’s not like people made them anymore. And how the hell would you light a cigarette with a power cell? What was she getting at? Flexing over the fingers of his hand he mulled over how she seemed to avoid ever answering questions- always directing the conversation somewhere else while giving only a fraction of an answer. 

Her head tilted and she breathed out another puff of smoke before speaking, “As for your question, Detective, I’m sure it is obvious.”

He bit back his response. ' _Like hell_ ,' probably wouldn't go over well and she didn't deserve his annoyance. 

Piper leaned into the conversation instead. “What do you mean, Blue?” curiosity etched on every inch of the reporter's face. There was a broad who would have made a great detective if she'd not been so damn annoying and outspoken. 

Blue made an absent gesture with her hand. The cigarette left a glowing trail in the gloom of the alley, “People notice far more than they realize. Ask some questions and you receive answers. Surely a reporter knows that." Another drag from the cigarette and a smile flitted over her lips, "…do enough digging and you can uncover the most interesting things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Edited 3-3-17. Should have translations that activate if you hover a mouse over them]


	9. The Flying Fucks

* * *

 

~\o/~   
[Maccready] 

Maccready looked up at the tower that rose above them.

It reflected the evening sunset in a thousand broken windows. Every panel of metal had become an orange beacon of flame as they cradled the rays of the sun.  It was a rare day that he got the chance to simply stand still and witness something so beautiful. But.. he knew it wouldn’t last. Nice things never did in the wasteland. As if to prove his point, the clouds overhead had begun to roll in from the west and there was a bite to the air that promised a miserable night ahead.

More-so for what they were about to do.

That is, assuming they survived that long.

The small group had all ended up going with the boss. Not to say that he and Piper hadn’t given it a good round of trying to convince her not to. In the end she’d been quite firm though- come with, or meet her at diamond city when she was done. That was it. Maccready followed only because he couldn’t very well leave the person who’d paid him to be the gun at their side, not while the caps were still wrapped in the handkerchief in his pocket and the several meals he’d been fed at no charge still sat in his belly. Piper of course felt the same. Though… without the caps.

The robot detective had just nodded.

Now there they stood ready to break through hell. The boss turned to face them as she spoke, “Same approach as last. Lag behind twenty paces. Keep an eye on my back but do not put yourself where I may mistake you for an enemy.” She turned and pulled out her favored pistol and an extra gun she must have picked up somewhere along the way  in the vault. The guns pointed towards the sky as she spoke in a sugar sweet tone down to the dog beside her, “Duke, I need you to guard. Can you do that, boy? Guard this floor until I get back, yeah?”

Duke’s tail thumped into the ground as he gave a soft woof.

Not that he’d admit it, but Macready appreciated the way her voice would soften when she talked to the dog. It put him at ease as to her temperament. Anyone who cared for an animal the way she did couldn’t be all bad, right? Watching after the dog, he didn’t see her walk towards the tower. However, the sound of her voice carrying over the ruins drew his attention.

“Super Mutants! I am here to negotiate the release of Rex Goodman should he still live. I will give you one chance- put down your weapons and you may be spared!”

Shit. Macready felt his jaw go slack. Had she really just tried to negotiate with super mutants?

Booming laughter echoed from the super mutants that heard her.

Laughter turned to gurgles after one of them fired a shot.

“So be it,” was her steady announcement before she leapt forward and hell broke loose.

 

* * *

 

~ ♥ ~  
[Nick Valentine] 

 

Valentine held his hat onto his head with his free hand. The wind at the top of the tower was threatening to steal it from him as he began to understand the appeal of the old cowboy hats with the drawstring. His mechanical eyes squinted out of reflex as a gust of wind blew into the open section of his jaw and the cold nipped at his processor. The receptors weren’t as powerful there but he could still feel it. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling- similar to a brainfreeze and he hoped they would be heading inside sooner rather than later.

“Uh, Blue, we got a problem,” Piper said as she stood next to the small construction elevator “We can’t all fit in this.”

Blue’s head turned to give the reporter a small smile, “Indeed.”

Maccready checked the bullets in his gun, “Well boss, I’m not one to complain-”

“Then be quiet,” Blue said, cutting the young merc off.

Nick adjusted his grip on the .44  he’d been given as he watched Blue kneel down and her hands checked over her strange looking boots. He’d never seen anything like them and they appeared to go all the way up to her thighs. The next action she made was slightly more confusing as she fired two rounds over the edge of the building and stood stock still. When she finally spoke, her words were almost stolen by the gust of wind and slightest trickle of rain that threatened with the gloomy evening sky, “Who here in this group would say they weigh the least?”

“Uh,” Piper looked around the group as she tried to guess weights before Valentine drawled out, “That would be me. The metal I’m made of it surprisingly light compared to all that muscle and bone ya’ll are carrying around.”

“Then Valentine and I will remain behind.”

Maccready narrowed his eyes, “Boss, are you nuts?”

The soft clicks as she checked her weapon clips were almost overwhelmed by another gust of wind that howled around the tower.

“I will carry Mr. Valentine down and meet you all at the bottom,” her voice was that same flat, matter-of-fact tone that she used when laying down the options. Her mind was made up.

“You’re joking, right? Blue, please tell me you’re joking.” Piper sounded slightly panicked as she glanced around the group.

“STRONG LIKE PLAN. NEED TO GO, NOW.” The green brute said as heavy footsteps could be heard from below.

“Go.” Blue turned and drew the silenced pearl handled pistol she seemed to favor. Halfway up the tower she’d run out of bullets and resorted to punching and then using the knife. Valentine was pretty sure she’d broken her hand during one of the punches but so far she hadn't let out a peep. Though gal. Assuredly insane, bout tough. Thankfully, near the top of the tower there had been a supermutant ammo stash with enough in it to refill every extra clip and gun everyone carried and then-some.  The small pack that Maccready now carried was heavy with whatever spares they hadn’t used and it jangled loudly as the mercenary moved around.

Blue's injured hand came up to smooth her hair as Valentine watched her slide behind some crates overlooking a near perfect choke point. A bloom of purple bruising was visible for just a moment. If it wasn’t broken, it was at least going to hurt like a son-of-ah.

Her gun gave soft pops as she began picking off the first of the green giants who were pounding up the ramp. With one last glance at the group heading for the elevator, Valentine drew his gun.

“Well, can’t say I’ve ever been carried down a tower by a dame but there’s a first for everything,” Valentine chuckled as he took up position next to her. It was hard not to be annoyed that he was to stay, but he trusted she had some sort of plan.

It was a few minutes of heavy fire before she spared him a glance once they had a moment of silence from the mutants, “As long as you do not scream on the way down, I vow to not drop you.”

As he ducked behind the crate to refill a clip he asked, “Dare I ask what you’ve got planned?”

“I plan to jump.”

It was a rare day that Valentine felt shocked. Usually, that only happened when he crossed the wrong wires during repairs.

“... Are you-- Your plan is to slamdance with the pavement from the tallest building in Boston?”

She let out a dry chuckle as she shot down the last supermutant attempting to come up the stairs, “Insane or not, I hope you’re ready to go.” Her arm slid around his waist as he began to spit his reply.

“Fu-”

* * *

 ~\o/~   
[Maccready]

 

There were a few things that Maccready had seen in his lifetime that rated high on his scale of one to impressive. Usually it involved either himself or vault dwellers. Today, it seemed, was no different. Although he’d bitten back his complaints, he didn’t feel right leaving his employer behind to once again face certain death. At first he thought she was going to leave him there to cover the retreat. A surefire death warrant, but employers seemed to think mercs were expendable like that. He should have known she wouldn't do that. After everything else she'd done in the last two days of his employment, this shouldn't of been a surprise. Yet it was. 

 _She’d_ volunteered.

He’d lingered as long as possible as she covered the retreat. So long that Piper eventually had pulled him onto the construction elevator, and he’d watched the black jacketed form of his boss get swallowed by the wall of the building. Only the steady soft pop of her gun was his sign that she remained alive. As they descended, the mutants fired from the broken windows and the rain began to pour in earnest. It was a tense ride, and halfway down they had to dash to the other side of the building to another elevator. It was a LOT harder to fight through the building without the boss, but they made it with everyone still in one piece. Maccready had earned a bullet nick on his wrist though that stung with every re-load. Not really much to complain about but it certainly didn't make him feel better about the day.

Then they heard the yell.

Maccready hadn’t taken time to think about what she might have planned to be honest. Too much else to pay attention to and she seemed more random than those old rotating slot machines he'd played with once in an abandoned cas-no. If he’d had to guess, he would have assumed that she intended to take the hard way and fight her way back down or even wait for the precarious first elevator to return. There was little doubt in his mind that she COULD do either of those things. Not after all the Super mutants she’d mowed down in a matter of minutes. She was like a walking human version of a minigun.

What he didn’t expect, was to see her holding a screaming Nick Valentine as she dropped past the slowly moving crew like a fucking dart. If it hadn’t been so unsettling, it might have been comical. The synth had been slung over her shoulders, holding his hat with one hand, and screeching like a molerat on fire.

Maccready grabbed the back of Piper’s coat as she leaned over the edge and screamed, “THE FLYING FUCK?!”

He had to agree.

There was no way that the boss was alive after that one and why in the mutant hells would she choose to JUMP?

“STRONG THINK LESS OF PLAN.” The Super Mutant said as he glanced over the edge as well. In the gloom of the rainy evening they couldn’t see where she’d landed but Maccready wasn’t really ready to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [author note: Thank you to my partner for the input that created the 'slamdance' phrase. ♥ That little gem made this scene perfecto.]
> 
> If you are curious This is similar to the sound I think Nick made - http://mitzyblue.tumblr.com/post/139130196945/pleatedjeans-omg-this-dog-barks-like-a-person
> 
> [Edited 3-3-17. Should have translations that activate if you hover a mouse over them for any language that isn't english,]


	10. Only Cats Would Know

 

Rosie landed with a grunt as her boots engaged and soaked up the brunt of the fall.

The landing felt like little more than jumping off the roof of her old house, but Valentine was slightly more off balancing than she’d anticipated. The jolt through her bad leg as she tipped was enough to make her wince. Carefully, she let go of the rather disgruntled synth and tilted her head to listen to their surroundings. The patter of rain seemed to muffle the world, but for the moment they appeared to be safe. Yet to her surprise, when she went to move she found she was stuck.

“...Detective Valentine, I regret to ask, but can you see--" Her voice broke for a moment and she had to clear her throat before continuing, "Apologies but can you see how I'm stuck?”

The detective knelt down in front of her, “You’re about an inch into the pavement. Huh, and I thought _I_ was nearly indestructible.”

There was a similar shake to his tone that implied he wasn't quite as collected as he was acting. Then again, neither was she. In fact, there was a distinctly 'uncollected' feeling jittering through her nerves as she bent to try and see the boots out of habit, but her damaged eyes couldn’t discern anything in the now failing light. She bit back a sigh as she corrected him, “Not indestructible, Mr. Valentine. These are just very… good boots. Can you assist in pulling me out of the pavement before the rain soaks through my coat?”

A warm hand was pressed into the one she held out and she clasped it. He gave a tug and she strained to pull free but she didn’t budge. Muttering something under his breath he let go of her, “Listen, dollface, I think I can get ahold of you but I’ll need to use a different angle.”

Nodding, she braced herself for whatever he had planned. When he bent and his shoulder pressed against her hip she felt a surge of alarm in her stomach. His arm snaked to wrap around just under her rear and as he shifted she fell forward over his back when he off-balanced her. In a swift upwards jerk, he pulled her free of the pavement.

The slight burn of a blush could be felt all the way to her ears as she straightened and pretended to dust herself off. Together they stood in relative silence under the shelter of the crumbling building while they waited for the rest of the group to descend. She could feel his eyes on her though like an itch she couldn't scratch.

“STRONG NOT SMELL FRESH BLOOD. MAYBE CRAZY LADY NOT DEAD.”

The voice echoed from above them and Rosie looked up and shouted, “The crazy lady is not dead. However, she is impatient and wishes to go find dry clothes and eat a proper meal. If you’d be so kind as to hurry up?”

Valentine gave what sounded like an amused snort and artfully lit a used and somewhat smashed cigarette under the brim of his hat. How he'd kept the damn thing on the entire time was a little mystifying since his wasn't pinned the way her was. He spoke with a curious roll of smoke, “Well, I’m not sure what I’m getting myself into with following you, but I’ve got the feeling that this is going to be a wild ride.”

A happy bark from nearby let Rosie know that Duke was still at his post. She gave a warbling whistle to call him over before patting her pocket for her own cigarette pack.

“You’re out,” Valentine said as his hand stretched out to offer her his own already lit one, “Saw you smoke the last of your pack back next to the common.”

Accepting the cigarette she gave him a polite nod of her head, “Thanks. I owe you. …didn’t realize I was out.”

“Anything for my-,” he stopped to chuckle and shake his head before continuing, “my daring and possibly _insane_ rescuer.”

A cold wet nose pressed into the palm of her free hand as she took a drag. She wasn’t going to admit it but jumping down had been terrifying.  She’d done jumps in the military, but that was either in power armor or with a shoot. Hell, she’d tested the boots a few times previously but never from a height like that. A part of her hadn’t even been sure it would work or that she'd gauged the landing area correctly from the sounds made by her shots down. Dropping from the building had her stomach all in knots and she was half afraid that she’d need to find a corner to shit in. God how she hated that line of thought. Dirty beds were one thing but she’d kill for a working bathroom or some clean wipes. Or just a faucet to wash her hands. Everything was just so damn DIRTY.

Another puff of the cigarette and the rock in her stomach started to dissipate as her mind chased itself in circles.

“Blue! You’re alive! How the hell did you do that?” Piper asked as she descended the stairs. Rosie could hear the squish of the reporter’s clothing- the entire group must be soaked through after standing on that elevator in the rain. She’d need to make sure they all changed into something dry after that. Damn, she was turning into her mother. ...that thought was met with a pang of sadness that shuddered her breath. That could be true on a number of levels but she prefered not to think on that just yet. If ever.

“You doubted me?” Rosie asked with a raised brow. Her free hand rubbed over Duke’s ears, “I said I would meet you, did I not?” She was thankful that the cigarette had calmed her enough that her voice didn’t come out shaky or strained.

Maccready stepped up, “Yeah but… you fu- freaking jumped off a building, Boss.”

“STRONG IMPRESSED. STRONG LIKE CRAZY LADY. STRONG CANNOT JUMP OFF TALL BUILDING AND LIVE.”

Rosie pulled off her sunglasses and pretended to polish them while everyone chattered or in Strong’s case, projected at her. Now was not the time to answer questions and she wasn’t sure if she trusted people with the knowledge of her boots. Actually, she wasn’t sure she trusted people in general after some of the things she’d heard. A few minutes of their chatter and ignored questions, and she slipped her glasses back onto her face, “Mr. Goodman,  would you care to join us for dinner?”

The group stilled and all eyes flicked between the man in the dirty, now soggy, grey suit and Rosie.

“Well, I-”

She flashed him her best attempt at a winning smile. The action felt wrong on her face and she was sure it looked more like a grimace as she spoke, “My treat. I have a… safe house, nearby. Relatively safe. We may all spend the evening there.”

 

* * *

 

~[o]~  
[Piper]

 

Piper sat beside the fire and stirred the soup that Blue had prepared. According to the woman it wasn’t ready yet, but the smell alone was making Piper’s mouth water. Honestly, she was half tempted to sneak a bite. Instead, she busied herself with watching all that was happening around the little camp. The two robots floated around the little area and Blue was kneeling in the dirt tightening the screws on what looked like a homemade turret gun. Piper had never met someone who could build one from scratch; everything was always salvaged and re-built.

Her hand idly stirred the contents of the pot while she let her mind wander.

Never before had she seen someone jump off a building a survive and Blue didn’t seem very inclined to talk about how she’d lived either. The woman seemed to have the rare bout of chattiness and it would die almost as soon as it arrived. Kind of like the raiders who'd attempted to attack the camp. Blue was bossy too. Everyone had been given clean clothing by the Mr. Handys as soon as they arrived. Anyone who’d refused had gotten a stern talking to- even detective Valentine. Afterwards, they’d all been chased off to do ‘chores’ while waiting for dinner. It was almost funny if it didn't make Piper so worried and homesick about Nat.

The rain had let up though. Not that it mattered- the entire encampment was covered by a quiltwork of old blankets and some scrap. Lights were powered by a small generator and there was a warm fire. Piper was glad she’d been able to snag the job closest to the fire. There was little more that she hated than not being able to feel her fingers from the cold.

A stream of angry mutters and a round of bluish smoke pulled Piper’s eyes back to Blue. The woman was sitting back in the dirt as if she’d fallen over and the turret was humming softly. With a grunt, Blue stood and hefted the turret.

One of the robots floated over to assist her and Piper leaned forward to eavesdrop as the robot began to scold Blue.

“Madame, if you are not careful you will injure yourself further.” The robot’s voice was feminine and heavily accented, “That injury should not be aggravated!”

Aside from the hand, Piper wasn't aware of another injury. However, she definitely suspected there was more when blue was so stoic about the injuries Piper could see. Blue waved the robot away after setting the turret down. “Fine, Curie.” Her voice rose to carry loudly around the buildings, “Strong, could you come here for a moment?”

The supermutant thundered over to where Blue stood fussing over the turret.

“WHAT CRAZY LADY WANT?”

“Can you carry this up the stairs for me? I’d like to set it up there,” She pointed at the little overwatch section near the door.

“CRAZY LADY TOO WEAK TO CARRY STUPID GUN?”

Piper felt a fresh sense of alarm at the super mutant’s tone and her hand edged towards her own gun. No one knew why she’d allowed the mutant to tag along with them. Blue answered Strong waspishly, “Crazy lady can carry the gun herself, but she assumed that Strong was hungry. If Strong doesn’t want to eat anything, then Strong is more than welcome to go somewhere else. However, you work for what you eat. Does Strong want soup?”

The super mutant’s face scrunched as he thought it over, “....SOUP SMELL GOOD. STRONG WANT SOUP.”

“Well if you want soup, then you earn it by carrying this for me,” Blue gestured down at the turret, “Then after I’ve washed up, we can all eat. Alright?”

Strong stood still for a second, thinking over the offered solution. When he made up his mind, he bend down and hefted the turret with a grunt and stomped off towards the raised watch section. It only took a few minutes before Blue seemed to be happy with the placement and she disappeared to ‘go wash’.  As if the rain hadn’t washed them all enough.

* * *

 

~ ♥ ~  
[Nick Valentine]

 

Valentine found Blue sitting in the shadows of a building just outside of the alleyway.

A cigarette dangled from her fingers and her legs were splayed awkwardly outwards. In front of her a gathering of crows picked over a crumbled old sweetroll and the river lapped gently at the walls. The day was silent and still. If he closed his eyes, it was easy to think that the bombs never dropped and that everything was just a bad dream.

“Hello, Detective.”

Pulling a cigarette from his pack he looked down at her. She still hadn’t moved from the relaxed position against the wall. He lit his cigarette before responding, “Hello, Blue. ...want me to leave?”

“...no.”

He glanced down at her again, “You alright?”

She gave a soft sigh, “M’fine. Leg hurts a little more than usual today. Still getting used to it.”

“Getting used to your leg?”

She shifted, “...yeah.”

Silence stretched between them and Nick realized that he probably wouldn’t get anymore answers from her today.

* * *

~\o/~   
[Maccready]

 

Maccready eyed the Super Mutant warily.

“Boss, you can’t think this is a good idea…” Even though they’d been at the settlement for a few days- not everyone trusted the super mutant.

Reflective sunglasses turned his way like the eyes of the giant ants from Capital Wasteland.

“Strong would not do well in the city,” she said in a deadly soft tone, “If people react the same way you all did, then he cannot stay here. He has agreed to my terms on behavior and I need to you take him, Codsworth, and Curie to Sanctuary. Explain things to Preston for me and protect everyone on the way there. And they need those supplies. The pack with the red patch on top is mine though. There is a cellar behind one of the houses- you’ll know the one- if you could leave that bag there, I would appreciate it. The settlers already know it is off limits. ”

“Mum, I must agree with Mr. Maccready. It seems like a very poor idea to leave you--”

“This is not up for discussion, Codsworth. Those settlers need these provisions until the crop comes in. Maccready and Strong will be able to assist with defences until I can build better ones. Codsworth, until that water purification unit is finished I need you to make sure the settlers have some source of clean water. And I want Curie to look over everyone there and make sure they are healthy. I’ll be a few days behind you. At most a week. I need to see if there are any jobs in town so that I can pay for materials for the settlement.” Her hand rubbed over the side of her face, “It’s been long enough that I can get the surgery now. ...selfish maybe, but it will likely use all the caps I’ve saved.”

Maccready opened his mouth the try one last time but the firm line to her lips told him that it would do no good. Codsworth seemed to visibly sag as he said, “Very well, mum. I’ll do my best to try and get the place into tip top shape.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Edited 3-3-17. Should have translations that activate if you hover a mouse over them]


	11. You Look So Far Away

* * *

 

 ~ ♥ ~  
[Nick Valentine]

Dr. Sun shone a small light into Blue’s filmed over eyes. Pale, cloudy, silver eyes stared blankly ahead and the doctor sighed and lowered the instrument.

“So Doc, what’s the verdict?” Valentine asked as he felt the buzz of worry spark in the back of his servos.

When she’d said her vision was poor he’d never expected this. Hell, it's not that he thought she was lying but she actually looked... blind. That thousand yard stare from behind her glasses wasn't a show. Even for a machine, it was almost hard to process. 

“It’s not good." The doctor answered as he clicked off the light and rubbed a tired hand under his chin. "The damage is strange. It seems recent enough, but there is some oddly worrying tissue growth that looks like old scarring. I’m almost positive that I cannot fix the left one without some upgrades to my equipment but I may be able to remove some of the scarring in the right one to improve some visibility. May I ask how this even happened? I’ve never even seen something like this.”

Blue’s mouth was firm and he watched as fine lines crept around the edges of her eyes.

“ _J'ai regardé la fin du monde_ ,” She said softly when the doctor turned away.

Her eyes never strayed from the far wall as she spoke. Honestly, Nick was surprised she’d said anything. Over the last few days he’d learned that Blue was like a vault door; closed with no hope of entry and all the people who knew the codes to unlock her were gone. Of course... 'how gone' was a question he'd started to wonder. Was she a vaultie fresh from the extinguished flame of a hidden vault? Was she something else? Or... maybe was she the next abandoned prototype like him. All valid questions and he he definitely wanted to find those answers. 

Valentine rubbed his chin as he pulled from old memories of original Nick’s french lessons- taken to woo Jenny with French poetry. It took a few minutes but eventually he’d parsed out what she’d said. ‘I watched the end of the world.’ whatever the hell that was supposed to mean was lost in the mystery of Blue. The doctor harrumphed and he returned to his instruments when he realized that no more was going to be said, but Valentine saw the small turn of her head and slow flick her eyes gave.  

Now Nick was sure he knew a few things about Blue. That even near-blind, she was a scary fighter with deadly aim. That people seemed to gravitate to her and she seemed to be an axis of… occurrences. And that she spoke at least ‘some’ French. But really, she was altogether a mystery. She hadn’t even told him why she had been looking for him yet. A question that he mentally moved to the top of his every growing list.

If he’d had one, he’d say his gut was telling him something. What it was, he wasn’t sure yet. This dame might be bad news but he was pretty sure it was bad news for _bad_ people and _that_ , he could live with.

A soft knock on the wood of the support pole pulled Valentine’s attention away from the enigma sitting in front of him. Piper grinned up at him with a nuka cola clutched in her hand as she lounged against the side of the building, “Hey, Nicky. Can the doc patch Blue?”

When he glanced at her, he could see a twitch and Blue’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. It wasn’t the first time that Blue had seemed to show a strange reaction to the reporter.

“Why do you call me Blue?” She asked before Valentine could respond. Nick’s head snapped to look at Blue. Or… not Blue? He’d never considered to question her name, but he realized she’d never introduced herself either. Damn, another question. The woman was a walking riddle. 

Piper gave a snort and took a swig of her soda before answering, “Well you haven’t exactly given anyone a name yet and it’s pretty obvious you just came from a vault. I mean, you have a pipboy and asked Mac what a super mutant was- if that wasn’t a dead giveaway I don’t know what is. I mean, other than a vault suit.”

Blue stood very suddenly, “Doctor Sun. It is late in the day and I would prefer to have this procedure somewhere more private. Would it be possible to schedule an appointment for Oh-eight-hundred tomorrow morning at a private location?”

The doctor looked up from his tools, “Yes, I suppose. We have a lower basement section usually used by Doctor Crocker who does facial reconstruction surgery. I can request to use the area tomorrow. I suppose if we are done for the day…”

Blue gave a nod and abruptly walked away, heading across the market. Nick stood still for only a moment before he and Piper started to follow.

“That was strange,” Piper muttered.

Nick gave a dry chuckle, “I'm beginning to think it's more normal when it comes to our mysterious friend. I guess the better observation would be, when is it not?”

Piper's thoughtful hum was his only answer as they trailed behind the black jacketed figure. When Blue disappeared around a corner and Nick realized that she was heading for the agency. Picking up his pace, he rounded the corner a few paces behind her simply to find that the way was empty. Piper came to a halt beside him, “Did we... just loose Blue?”

The flick and hiss of a match from nearby illuminated a dark corner. The shine of Blue’s near-useless eyes could be seen as she puffed a newly lit cigarette and said, “No. But it would not be difficult to hide from you. As for the name Blue… I will accept it for now.”

Her face turned upwards as a roll of thunder pealed through the sky and the tiker-tak of rain on tin roofs began to sound. Her hand came seemingly out of nowhere and once again the shades she always wore were slipped over her face as she spoke, “I suppose I should give you some information... explain more as to what I search for… but I wish to take a few minutes to compose myself. I will meet you inside.”

Nick hesitated for a moment before turning up the neck of his trenchcoat and following Piper inside his cramped office. Before passing through the doors he heard a soft but rich voice start to sing.

“ _Formidable, formidable_

_Tu étais formidable, j'étais fort minable_

_Nous étions formidables_

_Formidable_

_Tu étais formidable, j'étais fort minable_

_Nous étions formidables_ ”

The door closed to what sounded like a shuddering breath that came before holding back tears, and if he’d had a heart, he thought it may have broken at the sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Formidable, formidable  
> Tu étais formidable, j'étais fort minable  
> Nous étions formidables  
> Formidable  
> Tu étais formidable, j'étais fort minable  
> Nous étions formidables”
> 
> The Translation/context-
> 
> Terrific, terrific  
> You were terrific, I was terrible,  
> we were terrific,  
> terrific,  
> you were terrific,  
> I was terrible,  
> we were terrific.
> 
> These are the beginning lyrics from the song "Formidable" (Terrific) by Stromae
> 
> [Author's note: It's a short chapter, I know. I also debated on whether to add the song or not. In the end it won.]


	12. Daisy's For The Not-So-Dead

* * *

 

~*♣*~  
[Daisy]

 

It was one of her proudest accomplishments in the last century.

Daisy polished down the counter with a tired sigh and a permanently dirty rag. It had taken her ages to adjust, survive, and then claw her way into owning a business again. Sure, it’s wasn’t a coffee house next to Pemberton square but it was something she could still be proud of.  With the evening came the few last minute regulars that she tended to get and then she could close shop for the night.

A few hours later and she was locking up that day’s caps when a soft knock at the doorframe drew her attention.

“Hello? …are you closed for the night?”

Daisy bit back the groan of annoyance as she plastered on a smile so that it would show in her voice, “Sure am, honey, but I can make an exception if you know what you want and you’re quick.” She finished with the safe and straightened to look at the new client.

A woman in a black trenchcoat stood at the entrance of the store with a bag over her shoulder and a hat that shaded most of her face. “I was hoping I could exchange this,” she gestured at the pack, “for some water and maybe some clean bandages if you have any?”

Daisy patted the counter, “Sure honey, since you’re nice enough to not run screaming I’d be happy to help you. Just set it here and I’ll fetch what you need. Just so happens I got a shipment of goods this morning.”

The woman nodded. The trail of a nasty scar across her face pulled something from the ghouls memory and Daisy couldn't help but stare. It wasn’t possible. Not even slightly. But there, as memory serves, this girl was standing before her and Daisy had to wonder if maybe she was going feral and seeing shit. The soft thunk of the bag being set on the counter pulled her from her reverie and she set to looking over the items. It was a handful of baubles but absolutely _none_ of them were worthless. If she was honest, just one of the fusion cores that were in the pile would pay for what the woman wanted. Her eyes flicked to look at the woman- it was strange for a scavver to try and undersell. Maybe she didn’t know the worth of the items? Then again, everything was of a fairly high value so that wouldn’t make sense.

A smile quirked at the woman’s lips, “If the worth is… high, perhaps I could start a tab? I tend to collect a lot in my travels and it would be nice to have someplace that would accept it all. I’m not fond of carrying caps though. The noise… I’m surprised it doesn't get more people killed.”  

Daisy pushed aside the items and leaned onto the counter, “Well, most people sew a majority of their caps into their clothes. Less noise. Easier to carry that way too. But a tab sounds good. We can work something out.”

The soft grumble from the woman’s stomach pulled Daisy’s attention back to the fact that she’d been in the process of closing so that she could go find dinner herself. “Hey, listen, honey. I’ve gotta close up. If you aren’t in a hurry, we can talk trade while I make dinner. From the sound of it, you’re needin’ eat something too.”

“Can’t. I have… errands to run, but I’ll come back tomorrow.”  

Daisy could hear the lie. Two hundred years hadn’t left her stupid, just ugly. Her smile never wavered as she nodded anyhow, “I can lock your stuff away and we can trade tomorrow if that suits you? Haven’t had a break-in since Kleo took up shop next door and you won’t have to worry about it being nicked.”

A stiff nod was her only reply before her only view was that of the retreating back of a woman who reminded her of someone who had died a very, _very_ long time ago.

 

* * *

 

~/_\~  
[Hancock]

 

Eyes.

The feeling of being watched made a familiar clench in Hancock’s gut and thrill down his spine. There was no hair to raise on the back of his neck but the tension was the same anyhow. Running his tongue along his teeth in aggravation, he tried to glance with his peripherals to find the one watching him.

Mirrored shades were faced his direction. There she was, the tall mystery lady, propping up a wall just across the door to the Third Rail. The steady roll of steam for the vents on the ground made her seem almost ethereal as she melded herself to the scenery wearing an oversized black trenchcoat and large brimmed hat. He felt the smile forming before he realized that he’d begun sauntering over to where she stood. He opened his mouth to speak when she beat him to it.

“Hello, John Hancock.”

When she said his name a smile twisted at her lips for a split second as if she’d told her own private joke.

Maybe she had.

Leaning against the wall next to her, he patted his pockets for his cigs. Her hand flicked into his vision and a lit one was offered to him. He noticed her nails were pristine and actually painted near the same shade as her lips. Accepting the cigarette, he replied, “Hello, Mystery.” The name he called her had started as a joke between Fahrenheit and him when he couldn’t shut up about the mysterious woman. He wondered how she would react.

The corners of her mouth tilted upwards, “Mystery? … hm.”

He chuckled and took a long drag. Smoking didn’t feel the same since becoming a ghoul. The headrush from lack of oxygen and old nicotine wasn’t the same. It was more muted; like screaming into a pillow. Yet, he liked the habit and the memory that the action held, so he continued to smoke. It was still a wonder that the wasteland hadn’t run out of cigarettes yet though.He'd heard of a tobacco farm somewhere to the west though and on the rare occasion Daisy brought him a small pack of smoking tobacco from one of her caravans that traveled out that way. Hancock adored the stuff and kept the little stack locked tightly away for a 'rainy day'. Of course... not actual rainy days. 

“What brings you to the neighborhood, doll?” He asked.

“Supplies.”

Hancock resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck in frustration. Over the last week he’d forgotten how closed off and brisk she’d been in her short stay. Though, he knew a few drinks could loosen her tongue slightly- that slight amount wasn’t much.

She pulled the cigarette from her lips, “... and work. Someone named Bobbi is hiring. …need the caps to set up a trade route to the settlement in Sanctuary. I’ll be in and out for a few days before heading north.”

Sanctuary. Hancock had heard of it but probably couldn't point it out on a map. He still filled the info away as he focused in on what else she'd said. Glancing at her while a growing frown, he asked, “Bobbie No-nose?”

“...If there isn't another,” she said with the faintest of shrugs raising one of her shoulders.

His lip twitched and he fought back the anger that rolled in his belly at the mention of Bobbi. He had Fahrenheit chasing a rumor that Bobbi was digging for... somewhere. Where was still a big question. He’d crossed the old ghoul-bitch recently and he had the sinking suspicion she was up to no good though. It was a sure bet that she would try something soon. Something that would bite his ass if he wasn’t careful.

He understood the desperation that came with needing caps, but Bobbi meant a nut-bag of trouble and he had no fondness for getting kicked in the groin. Maybe there was a way to work this in his favor though.

Mystery turned her gaze on him again, “Don’t like her. …gut tells me she’s no good. Plannin’ trouble." He could swear there was more to her dangerously focused gaze as she paused and added, "for someone.”

A possible warning was held in those words. Words he definitely agreed with and he wondered if he was going to be that unlucky someone. Hancock glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, “You any good at cards, Mystery?”

A faint smile edged over her face. It ticked at the corners of her mouth like a metronome as she answered, “No.”

His brow went up high enough he felt his hat shift, “huh, and here I thought you’d have a great poker face.”

The smile tilted into something that was almost sad as her head turned and she possibly looked away, watching something as she answered, “My poker face is superb. My ability to play cards however, leaves something to be desired. Rules always seem to cause me trouble.”

“Maybe that would explain why you seem to fit in here so well. ...Hey, doll, got a question for you,” He glanced away as a flash of armor caught his eye. Fahrenheit slid into view like a greased cat and he relaxed, “How’d you like to work for me instead?”

Silence.

He glanced to where Mystery had been and found that the wall was empty.

Turning his head he looked around the courtyard and frowned as Fahrenheit came up to his side, “Something the matter, John?”

Shrugging, he gave his cig an angry flick of the thumb to knock away the ash, “No.”

Eyes.

His fingers twitched as the feeling of being watched came back with a vengeance... but this time he couldn't seem to spot the watcher.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference- when I think of Daisy I think of her voice actor. [Iona Morris](http://www.ionamorris.com/resources/Iona-0947,%20smaller.jpg)


	13. No Rest For The Wicked

 

* * *

 

~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

 

Rosie cursed her target’s timing.

Hancock had asked her a question that left her itching with curiosity just as she flicked the switch to the stealthboy she'd managed to purchase in diamond city. She hoped the mayor would forgive her disappearing act as she followed the gangster's supply-man towards the door of the warehouse she’d been hired to clear. It had been easier to accept jobs since finally getting one of her eyes fixed. A certain safety came with sight. 

When Charlie had offered her a job that morning she’d been intrigued, though cautious. After some tense questions and terse negotiation she’d not only raised the amount offered but found out who the employer was.

Mayor Hancock.

It wasn’t unexpected. From what she'd learned, he wasn’t known as the town’s mayor because he played nice.  He was known because he kept it fair.  Earlier she’d seen an example of his rule when he’d stabbed a man for a perceived transgression. The man in question had attempted to collect ‘protection fees’ from some fresh meat that had just walked through the gate. Not really a stab worthy offence, but the threat he’d lobbed at the mayor afterwards had been. At least... in this new world's standards. If she was honest, the Goodneighbor 'way' disappointed her to some degree. Life somehow held as much value in the wastes as it had in the war- if you were on the wrong side you were as good as already dead.  She’d hated the view then. More-so as the war had claimed countless innocent lives as paranoia grew. She never let herself dwell though. If someone was dead then that book was closed- there was no going back. You can’t second guess decisions like that.

As her target closed the door to the alley she slid a piece of folded ballistic weave duct tape into the latch and quickly scaled the wall to the second story. If she needed to make a hasty exit- the front door was now an option. With any luck, it wouldn’t come to that since all the targets were in relatively the same location. It had taken all day but the wait had finally paid off.

There was a hazy sort of teeth reverberating hum as she flicked the stealthboy back off.

After checking her silenced pistol, she bit down on the semi-thick cord with a mental cringe of disgust as she counted slowly to one hundred and stared at Hancock from her hiding place. The rope wasn’t her first choice weapon-wise but if she needed to strangle someone or lost the knife she’d borrowed from Maccready, it would make an appropriate back-up before resorting the the gun. Against common belief- silence pistols weren’t so silent and she wanted this job to be as quiet as possible.

Pity there wasn't any trick-line around. It seemed to be one of the few thigns that hadn't survived the war. Thin wire that could cut a man's head clean off at the right speed and force. Good for traps. Excellent for a weightless emergency weapon. Many of the stealthed dragoon bastards had used them and she'd stepped on a few of the cords be accident before she learned how to proper pick them out.

The sky gave a growl as she scaled the rest of the brick wall and pulled herself fully onto the roof of the building. She’d scouted the place out after accepting the job and found that two of the warehouses connected at the roof. An easy access point and stupid of them to not have it guarded. Stupider to not have patched when the autumn rain began to fall but soon that wasn't gonna be a worry any of them needed to face.

 

* * *

 

~/_\~   
[Hancock]

Hancock woke with a start.

In the wasteland he was no stranger to waking and clutching a weapon as danger pulled you from sleep, but it wasn’t often that it happened to him on the couch of the old State House. His sleep addled mind raced to try and catch up as his eyes darted around the room looking for danger.

Mystery sat across from him. Her hand was cupped, and the flame danced light over her face as she brought a freshly lit match to the tip of her cigarette. The sound that had woken him had been her strike to light it. She crossed her legs slowly and leaned back against the couch.

“Lower it.”

He scowled in response to her demand.

“ _Il n’y a pas plus sourd que celui qui ne veut pas entendre_. We can’t have a conversation if you keep a gun in my face, Hancock,” she snapped after the silence lingered for longer than what she seemed pleased with.

Slowly, he lowered his gun. “Not sure I trust you, doll.”

He didn’t bother mentioning that he wasn’t sure if she spoke another language or if he’d simply taken too much jet earlier. Wouldn’t have been the first time. Either way, her head snapped to face him and he watched with a sense of distant fascination as her lip seemed to wrinkle slightly before her mouth formed an angry tight line. There was something about her reaction that seemed… off. Angrier than it should have been. Or maybe not angry enough. Fuck being awake and trying to think shit like that over. 

“Now look who isn’t talking,” he grumbled while digging around the clutter of the coffee table to find some mentats.

“Had a job. Needed to be out of sight. …heard you ask though. Bad timing...,” her free hand came up and he was surprised as she pulled away the sunglasses. Holding them, she rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand before slipping the glasses on and sighing, “Fucking dust.”

Hancock paused in his search for drugs and took a moment to _really_ look at her. A splash of drying blood was sprayed across the side of her face. Tension riddled her body and he’d seen the dark circles and bruising around her eyes. A fresh wound was bound on her thigh and she seemed to be trying to avoid leaning on one shoulder. Whatever she’d been up to in the past couple of hours had really done a number on her. The soft tap of boots made him look up as Fahrenheit made her way up the stairs. She held a package from his favorite supplier and he could tell she’d spotted his ‘guest’ as a grin slid over her face.

Mystery gave a silent nod of hello before turning her attention to the far wall.

Fahrenheit didn’t seem to mind as she tossed Hancock the package and sank into the couch next to him. Her words were directed at Mystery though as she grinned a cat-smug smile, “Hello, little pawn. Take any interesting jobs lately?”

Mystery shifted and smoke puffed from her nose before she answered, “Took a job to exterminate some pests recently. Can’t say it was interesting though. Scouting an art gallery with blood paintings- now that was interesting. … disgusting, but interesting. Didn’t care for the smell though.”

Fahrenheit’s grin pulled her face tight, “Don’t fancy painting with blood? Hm, I imagine you would do an admirable job. Anyhow,” she pushed up from the couch and three fingers were splayed on her thigh facing him to let him know a certain job had been completed. Silent code they'd taken years to perfect in case one of Marowski's men were listening in. “I’ve still got errands to run and the night is young. Pleasure speaking with you… Mystery woman.”

With that, Fahrenheit strode from the room and thumped down the stairs. Hancock opened the package on his lap as he thought over the conversation and what Fahrenheit had signaled. Someone had taken the job to eliminate the gangsters in the warehouses. Good. That was a load of his mind for the moment. Sure, the quiet wouldn’t last, but it certainly would calm things down for the moment.

Mystery shifted, and he caught the hint of a wince out of the corner of his eye.

“Something the matter, doll?” He asked as he finally found a tin of mentats and popped one into his mouth. The smooth minty flavor spread over his tongue and the world seemed to come into focus as the drug buzzed through his system. Nothing better than the crisp wake-up a mentat could give.

She tried to shrug but winced again and said, “m’fine.”

He gave a smug look, “Sure, doll. I’ll believe that when you stop flinching. ...you know, if you wanted, I’d be happy to offer some booze and a back rub to help with whatever is making you wince like that. My treat.”

A frown pulled at her lips and she opened her mouth a few times as if fighting with herself over what to say. He was sure she would have just said no. It was mostly a joke anyhow but a pretty woman like that would of course say no to a ghoul. Who the hell actually falls for ghouls besides the crazies living in goodneighbor? No one. Well... maybe someone but there didn't seem to be a lot of ghoul love in the commonwealth. Not after what happened in Diamond city anyhow. 

“Actually, I could use assistance. I’ve… well, I pulled something and I may need help putting it back into place. I… Alcohol beforehand might be a good idea if you were serious,” even though her smoky voice seemed more expressive than usual, she was facing away and gave no extra cues to what she was thinking.

Hancock reached for one of the bottles stashed under the table, “Sure, doll. Can’t say I’ve ever had a dame ask for me to lay hands on her quite that way but I’ll do what I can.”

A slight smile flickered over her face, “you sound… surprised that I accepted.”

Hancock didn’t do more than grin at her as he poured them each a drink.

But yeah. Yeah, he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Il n’y a pas plus sourd que celui qui ne veut pas entendre._ \-- **(No one is as deaf as the one who does not want to listen.)**


	14. Little Drop of Poison

* * *

  ~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

 

Rosie was tipsy. It had been almost a year since she’d had a drink. There had been plenty of times she’d wanted one though. Now that she’d caved, it had all gone straight to her head. That was likely from not having eaten much since that morning. The shopkeeper’s offer of dinner had been tempting. But aside from the fact that everything edible in the wasteland made her nauseous, she had to finish up the jobs she’d accepted before returning the the little settlement called Hangman’s alley where the others were going to be waiting for her once they finished their own errands.

Now she was tipsy and in a man’s lap.

Ghoul or no- she liked him. Even considered him handsome now that she could see more than just the red blur. However, she liked his voice best. And she liked how firm his hands were as he touched her. No longer was she being held like something so fragile that she’d break at the slightest touch. She could never fault Nate for that, but a part of her had resented it. Just because she was broken didn't mean she was delicate. 

Her shirt slipped open more as he kissed her shoulder. Then his hands danced over her waist and his mouth kissed over her neck. Then her jaw. Then lips. It was like kissing fire. He was a wash of heat and his mouth tasted of mint.

But her mind was protesting. It wasn’t that she minded him being a ghoul. As far as she was concerned- they were just people. Changed or no. It wasn’t that she minded where he was kissing. His lips trailed fire and lust over her skin and damned if she ever wanted that to stop. What she minded, was that she was grasping at the straws of happiness while her husband lay in a frozen improper grave, her son was still stollen, and if she was honest, she hadn't 'been' even with Nate since giving birth to shaun. Now, she was melting under the touch of someone she barely knew, and trusted less. But the booze helped. It helped until his hand drifted down her thigh and over her leg.

Her hands flisted on his jacket, and she pulled away, “I… I’m sorry. I can't.”

She could feel the tension in his body as his hands stopped cold in their exploration. Her hands straightened out his collar habitually as she spoke, “You are handsome and nice. But…" She paused choking on the words before they finally flopped out like dead fish, "I don’t want a quick fuck.” Her throat felt like it was closing as she tried to remain nonchalant, “but I… my… my husband passed recently. I can't--” She paused to shake her head-- “I’m not ready yet. Please forgive me. I… I should go.”

It was only half the truth.

 

* * *

 

~/_\~   
[Hancock]

 

Hancock sat on the couch where Mystery had left him.

She’d left him hard as mutant muscles and angry as a wet deathclaw. It was bullshit. Absolute bullshit. There was no way she was grieving a dead husband. He poured himself another shot and downed it with a healthy chaser of self loathing. The alcohol washed away the sweet taste her kisses had left in his mouth and he slammed the glass back on the table with a growl.

“You know, Charlie is going to fuss if you break it.”

Hancock looked up to see Fahrenheit draped across the couch opposite from him. He hadn’t even heard her come in, but he had no doubts that she’d been nearby listening. It was a longstanding habit of hers to listen in ‘for his safety’. They both knew that wasn’t the whole truth. Then again, who actually has privacy in the wasteland? Hell, for that matter- who cared?

Dropping his gaze to the floor, he muttered angrily under his breath.

Fahrenheit sighed, “Boss, John, you know I love you right? But seriously? I don’t even get why you’re upset. I mean, yeah, Mystery woman is a hot peice but you heard what she said right?”

Hancock poured another shot, determined to be angry as he growled, “not buyin it.”

“Why not? You saw the ring on her finger like everyone else. Sure, not many people practice that one anymore but it’s not _that_ uncommon.”

Scowling at the floor he realized that he HAD seen a ring on her finger. The black band had intrigued him but he hadn’t paid much attention. There had been _other_ things on his mind.

Shit.

He rubbed his hands over his face and glanced at her as he tried to find an excuse to stay angry, “She still ran off though.”

Fahrenheit pursed her lips, “Made you look a right tit when you didn’t chase her down and offer to spend the evening talking instead.”

Hancock groaned and leaned back on the couch, “Fuck.”

She simply hummed and lit a cigarette.

Her point had been made.

* * *

  
~*♣*~  
[Daisy]

 

Daisy carefully took notes on all the items. The pack had been left without a second thought- the person was far too trusting. A trait that the wasteland would squash soon enough, but Daisy didn’t mind. She wasn’t about to screw over the poor lass for an extra cap. A happy return customer is always better than clawing over the little guy to reach ‘the top’.

It was a policy she’d had before the war and it had never changed.

She bit at the tip of the pencil. An old habit that still hadn’t died in the centuries she’d been alive. It tasted terrible but she was too preoccupied to really notice. The woman wanted to set up a constant supply tab. It would be good business to get on her good side if that was the case, but something about the girl stirred up old memories. For so many years Daisy had tried to put the past behind her; forget about what had been and focus on the ‘now’. For the longest time it had worked, but now… now she felt the dull ache that accompanied thoughts of what the world had been and everyone left behind. Her hand dipped into her pocket to touch her only surviving heirloom. A small locket with a picture of her son and favorite niece.

Glancing outside, she saw that the moon had risen wall of crumbling city buildings. It was getting late, but she’d finished most of the days’ inventory. Her eyes drifted downwards to the town gate. Sitting against the wall was the dark but recognizable form of the woman who’d brought supplies. The woman’s hand was on her lap with her gun, but her head had dropped in the almost unmistakable sign that she’d fallen asleep.

Pushing back from the small desk, Daisy ambled down the stairs. Maybe it was dumb, but fuck all if she was going to let a woman who looked the spitting image of her niece sleep on the streets of goodneighbor. If they had another super mutant attack or raider ambush that spot would be prime for a grenade. Hell, they'd lost a few newcomers to that very corner.

As she approached, the woman’s head snapped upwards. Well, at least the girl had some sort of instinct. That was a good start. Though wearing sunglasses in the dark was a little strange.

Then again… this was Goodneighbor.

Daisy motioned back towards the store, “Why don’t you come up. I’ve got safe floor space and I’ve inventoried the items you left.”

Hesitation riddled the woman’s body before she muttered, “Wouldn’t want to impose. m’fine here. Thank you though.” Her voice was thick and slightly slurred. Daisy couldn’t tell if it was drugs, booze, or just sleep but the woman wouldn’t be very safe in that state. Edging forward Daisy knelt down and placed a firm hand on the woman’s arm, “I’ll have none of that, honey. You wouldn’t be imposing. If it would make you feel better I can subtract some caps from the balance sheet as payment but I won’t take no for an answer.”

It was easy to guide the woman who gave a sigh and nodded before pushing up from the ground. The pang of sadness hit Daisy again like a crashing wave. This girl was so similar to her niece. God how she missed her family. But that was another time- she shouldn’t dwell. Though some days it ate at her more that she’d never found her son. Too much wreckage after the bombs. It was part of why she'd chosen to stay though- just in case one day he walked into goodneighbor. It could happen, right? After all, she'd lived.

Once inside the building, Daisy set to boiling some water in the little stove that she’d scavenged and had hauled there. It sat just beside her desk on the upper floor. It wasn’t a real kitchen but there really wasn’t ' _real_ ' food to cook nowadays anyhow.

“Have you eaten yet, hun? Maybe some tea? I got some dried mutfruit that makes a nice enough cup. Like to drink it before bed, you see. Be happy to pour you one if you’d like?”

She glanced over her shoulder to where the woman had slid down the wall like an abandoned flour sack. “No. Thank you,”  was the husky whisper of a reply.

In the dim light of Daisy’s old lamps she could see the faint trail of tears through the dust that now coated the woman’s face. Mentally, she let loose a curse as she pulled two cups from the shelf and set the mutfruit to steep before walking over to the woman. “Hey now, I don’t bite. Did-,” Daisy paused and sighed. Goodneighbor was a horrible place but not as bad as it could be or had been. The wastes were harsh. And the people harsher. She set a hand down on the woman’s knee, “Did something happen, hun? Are you okay?”

The sunglasses were pulled away from puffy eyes and the woman sighed, “Just… adjusting. Tonight is more difficult than others.”  

Mismatched cloudy eyes stared blankly ahead as the woman fiddled with the glasses, “I miss my husband ...and the confidence  my family gave me. Yet…” She shook her head and gave another soft sigh, “I feel guilty for wishing to move on. Wishing to forget. …it just hurts tonight. ...it all just... hurts.”

The look of abject misery that floated over the woman’s face as she spoke was as clear a picture as any. In the wastes, everyone has lost someone. The soft hiss of water drew Daisy’s attention away and she headed back over to check the ‘tea’. It was little like tea had once been to be honest, but it was the closest she’d been able to get with years of trial and error. Handing the steaming mug to the woman, she took a spot on the floor facing her. “Well, hun… we’ve all felt losses. It’s part of the wasteland life. How you grieve and how long you grieve is up to you. It doesn’t mean you loved them less if you let them go sooner.”

The woman let out a bitter laugh, “I have lost…" She paused, her head tipping back as if maybe she could find the ceiling for answers, "so, so much in so little time. I don’t know how you all do it. Staying strong.” The woman's head came back down and she huffed a sigh before taking a sip from the cup clasped between her hands. Daisy was entertained by the glimmer of a grimace that the woman fought back before she gave a polite nod and said, “Thank you for the… tea.”

Daisy chuckled. “It’s not really anything like what tea used to be, but it's what I have.”

A wistful sad look came over the woman’s face, “No… no it’s not. My kingdom for some proper sugar or a cup of coffee in the morning that doesn’t taste like… radiated bean juice. Though, this is the best tea I’ve had in... years.”

Daisy paused with her cup halfway to her lips. The woman spoke like she knew. Like she was from before the bombs, but she was no ghoul. There was no way.

The woman ran a hand along her hair, smoothing it with the ease and practice of someone who’d had to care about appearance once. Daisy frowned and stared at the woman. A trick of the institute maybe? Cloning dead relatives? That seemed a little far fetched but her niece had volunteered for some of the early ‘super soldier’ experiments. What if? …what if?

No.

Taking another sip of her tea she tapped her cheek and asked, “I’m curious, that’s quite a scar. Does it have a story?”

A bitter quirk came to the woman’s lips, “I decided to see how working as a human shield was career wise.” Her hand came up to trace the scar and Daisy could see that it was scarred as well, “ _J'étais pas taillée pour, ça m'a coûté un bras. Enfin... un jambe..._ ”

Daisy pursed her lips as she recognized the french. It had been years since she'd heard anyone speak it with the fluent ease and old accent. The new wasteland version of the language had a harshness that matched the environment.

Tapping her fingers on her cup she asked, “ ‘fraid I didn’t catch your name, hun.”

The reaction was slow. Tension filled the woman inch by rugged inch and she stiffly turned her head towards Daisy. “I didn’t give it.” The answer was flat. Guarded. Forced. ...familiar.

Daisy swallowed back her apprehension and pressed on, “It wouldn’t be Mel-- I mean Rosie… would it? Daughter of Lily?”

The gun was out and the woman was edging back against the wall away from her. “What game are you playing?” The woman hissed through clenched teeth.

Daisy set her cup down and pulled an old locket from her jacket. She hadn’t been able to wear it for years because the metal would bite through what was left of her skin and leave great bleeding gashes. It matched the one given to her missing twin sister just before the bombs fell. The only difference between the necklaces was that on was detailed with lilies and the other daisies.

She opened and held up the locket, “Because I want to know why you look like my niece. Why you sound like my niece. Why you even act like her.”

The gun wavered and lowered. “your... niece?”

Daisy nodded.

The hand holding the gun dropped fully to her side and the woman edged forward, “Aunt Day? Daisy C. Rockford?...... Is… is this a trick? You can’t be... alive…” the last word was strangled and soft.

Daisy was still weary of the gun but she pushed to her feet and edged towards the woman with the locket in her outstretched hand. Niece or synth it didn’t matter if she could just pretend to have family for a little while again. She spoke softly, “Neither can you. How? How did you survive all these years?”

“I was frozen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol no. Pfft, of course there are not naughty bits. tsk tsk. You didn't really think you'd get that so soon, did you? (or... at all. sorry)
> 
> Also, I know Daisy doesn't have a desk 'in-game' but I wanted one and thought that she'd have one so.... *shrug* there it is. If anyone is curious I'm thinking that it and the stove are upstairs in that little alcove just past the stairs where the mannequins are. Also thinking she'd have some sort of stool to sit on while she waits for customers because who the hell wants to stand all day? Pfft, over two hundred years old- no way. 
> 
>    
>  _J'étais pas taillée pour, ça m'a coûté un bras. Enfin... un jambe_ \-- **(I was not cut out for, it cost me an arm. More like ... a leg)**


	15. We All Keep Secrets

Hancock was doing his usual round of the town when he saw her. From near the entrance gate he watched the show as he lounged against the wall. In the roof of Daisy and Kleo’s shops, the mystery woman was doing pull-ups using the old beams. Few people bothered to exercise anymore when everyday that energy could be needed to outrun a danger. He couldn’t fault her though- it was enjoyable to watch. An old scavenged tank top exposed her muscular back and shoulders with a floral cloth wound around one muscular arm. Sweat beaded and glistened over the visible bare dark skin and her hair was thrown back in a loose braid. Parts of it had come loose and stuck to her cheeks like trailing vines as her arms pumped and pulled her body upwards.

The sunglasses, of course, were still on.

When she dropped down and started climbing to the lower floor, he decided to amble in and see if he could find out why the very private old ghoul had a strange woman exercising in her home.

“Hey, Daisy. How’re sales?”

Daisy looked up from the meticulous set of notes she was working over. “Hm? Oh, Hey, John. It’s been a slow morning. You here to pick up your usual?”

He shrugged, “Sure, if you have it. Hey, who’s your guest?”

Daisy glanced upwards for a moment before answering in a guarded tone, “A friend.”

Hancock frowned. Daisy was the ghoul who helped him get back on his feet so many years ago. She was almost like a mother to him and a lot of other ghouls in the town. Rumor was that she’d been around since maybe pre-war. In the years they’d known each other she’d never treated him with this sort of near hostility. That tone was one she usually used on obnoxious drifters and Marowski's boys.

“Hey, don’t be like that, Daisy. We're friends, remember?”

The older ghoul’s face pinched with a hint of anger, “She’s. A. Friend.”

A heavy thump from upstairs came with a stream of cussing and Daisy looked up. Her angry expression was replaced with a worried frown as she called upwards, “You alright, hun?”

The cussing stopped and Mystery’s familiar smoky voice called down, “Yeah. Sorry. ...do you have a pair of pliers? Maybe a screwdriver?”

Daisy began digging around under her counter before emerging with a full toolbox. “Sure, honey. Want me to bring it up to you?”

“...you might have to. ...I think I damaged one of the hydraulic lines yesterday and didn’t notice. Damn thing must have taken a bullet… gave out when I took off the boot.”

Hancock hefted the toolbox out of Daisy’s reach as he walked past her, “How about I take this up for you, Daze?” Daisy moved to catch his arm but he was already headed for the stairs. A few short bounds and he stood at the doorway near the top of the stairs looking at Mystery.

The sunglasses were on the floor with an overturned table and she was sitting at Daisy’s desk. Mechanical parts were shrewn all over the surface and she was leaning over something while muttering to herself.

Hancock cleared his throat.

The reaction was immediate. The exposed sections of her back went stiff and rigid as her head rose up and she turned to look at him. Oddly ghoulish, clouded over eyes focused on him before dropping to the floor.

“....Hello, John.”

He forced a smile onto his face and gestured at the toolbox, “As you requested.”

No smile passed over her lips this time as she glanced up and then looked away once more. Her hair shifted just enough to cover her face,  “This… this isn’t a good time, Hancock.”

Daisy pushed passed him and planted herself between them. “John, I’m going to have to draw the line here. Let her be.”

Hancock frowned and shifted uncomfortably, “Hey, I didn’t do anything.”

A soft thump drew his attention. Mystery was pulling something onto her leg with the twitching expression of someone holding back tears. Then he realized that it wasn’t over her leg- it WAS her leg.  “Oh.”

He stood frozen in place as her face crumpled and she curled forward. Glancing over her shoulder, Daisy followed his gaze.  With one last angry glance at Hancock, she turned and wrapped an arm around Mystery’s shoulders, “Honey, it’s not that bad. You know, a lot of ghouls loose limbs too. It’s part of the wasteland.”

Mystery took a shuddering breath, one of her thin fingered hands weaving limply as she spoke, “I know, Day. I know. I just… i-it’s just… I’m trying to adjust. I didn’t mean to fuss.”

Hancock took a step back, “I, uh, I’ll come back later.”

“No.” Mystery glanced up while quickly wiping away an escaped tear with a hand that shook, “I meant to speak with you. We… were distracted yesterday. You didn’t mention what job you had for me.”

Daisy glanced between them with a frown, “Do you want him to wait downstairs, hun?”

Hancock took another step back before remembering that he was holding the toolbox. After setting it down, he began backing out the door as he fumbled out an excuse, “Actually I, uh, just find me in the old state house later. I’ve, uh, got some errands to run.”

 

* * *

 

~/_\~   
[Hancock]

 

Hancock sat with his head in his hands. He’d hidden up in the uppermost room of the old state house and popped some ultra-jet to try and calm his nerves. Whatever he’d blundered into hadn’t been his intention. Hell, with how well the gal had moved he’d never expected _that_.

Daisy was right, of course. A lot of ghouls were missing limbs. Hancock had lost a toe somewhere along the line himself but that didn’t really compare. He could see how it might be something that would be upsetting if someone… barged in and saw. He hated having his boots off for that very reason.

A soft knock on the wood of a beam drew his attention.

“Boss? ….Hancock? Is it safe to come up?” Fahrenheit called from the stairs.

“Yeah,” Hancock croaked out.

If he was truthful, he didn't know what had upset him so much. But the entire situation had him in jitters. Maybe he’d ‘go for a walk’ and try to get clear of Goodneighbor for a while … maybe a long while…

Fahrenheit leaned against one of the crates and took a drag from an already lit cig before saying anything, “She’s waiting for you downstairs. …Do you want me to talk to her about the job?”

Pushing from the floor, Hancock shook his head, “Naw. Thanks though. I’ll, uh… I got this.”

She nodded and her thumb flicked the ash away from the cig’s tip, “She likes you, boss.”

Hancock froze in his tracks and stared at her, “What?”

Fahrenheit shrugged, “She wouldn’t care what you think unless she was worried you might reject her for,” Her hand waved slightly and she shrugged, “being less than, I don’t know, perfect.”  She took another drag before continuing, “And damn if she isn’t perfect. You see the muscles on her? Fuck, if she didn’t seem so keen on you maybe I’d try to take her myself. Not sure she’s the type though.” She stubbed her cig out on her armor and shrugged, “Then again, she’s hard to nail down.”  

Hancock pulled off his hat and sighed while running his hand over his head, “Yeah. …you really think she’d be into a ghoul though?”

A smirk twisted her lips upwards, “Well, a ghoul was almost into her last night if I remember correctly.”

 

* * *

  ~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

 

Rosie hefted the pick and brought it down on the cold dirt of the wall. Beside her were two other diggers. Scrawny young boys with little to no muscle that couldn’t seem to swing the pick hard enough to break the damn dirt. Any pity she might have taken on them was eaten the minute one made a comment on how only men could be strong enough to dig. It was easy to prove them wrong.

In the two days she’d been down there, she’d made more progress than they’d made in a month. Even if every night it felt like she had taken a bath in dirt and sweat and it made her stomach roll with disgust- it was worth it for the sour pinched looks on their faces.

With a sigh, she set down the pick and leaned back against the wall. Instinctively her hand searched out a cig, but as she brought it to her lips she remembered old tales of gas pockets in mines. She didn’t know enough about digging to really know if it was safe or not and had avoided smoking while in the tunnel because of it. The hiss of a match nearby answered the question though. Bobbi ‘no-nose’ stood above her with a newly lit cigarette.

“Aint payin’ ya to laze around, smoothskin,” Bobbi growled out.

Rosie took her time to casually light a match and take a drag from her cig before answering around it, “Nuh. You’re payin’ me tuh dig. Been doin that.” She pulled the cigarette from her lips and gestures at the boys, “Might want to switch these boys to dirt bailin duty though till they get more muscle. Huh… as if they could,” she gave an irritated shrug, “ _Franchement, ces guignols servent à rien._ ”

Bobbie gave her a side-eyed look and one of the boys shot her a sweaty glare as he gave an attempted 'hefty' swing at the wall. A trickle of dirt splayed down from where the boy had hit but the sound was all wrong. Rosie reached out and grabbed his pick from his hands before he could make another swing.

“Hey?! What gives?” He snarled.

Rosie knelt next to the wall and tilted her head, “There is something different about this section.” She tapped it with the butt of the pick. A low scuttling sound from the other side could be heard with a dull echo, “there is a creature on the other side of this. I think it is hollow.”

“What? No way,” The kid knelt next to her and pressed his ear against the rock. After a few seconds he grumbled, “I don’t hear nothin.”

Biting back a comment on his stupidity, she held the pick out to him. “Fine.”

Standing, she backed away and took another drag from her cigarette while pulling out her gun. Her teeth held the lit cig gently in place between her lips as she checked over the clip. Bobbi came to stand beside her, “you really think something is there?”

Rosie shrugged with a slight huff that sent a roll of smoke from her mouth.  Her hands snapped the clip back into the gun, “Nutn’ Love Tap an’ I can’a han’le..”

“Love Tap?”

Rosie raised the gun.

“Oh,” Bobbi muttered something under her breath about only psychos naming their guns as she stepped back.

“Hey, strong-broad. You ain't gonna help?” One of the boys called over his shoulder.

Rosie pulled the cigarette away from her mouth and sighed another roll of smoke before answering, “Not yet.”

Ten minutes later the boys broke through the wall into an old tunnel that had collapsed. The boys charged ahead in their exuberance at making progress. They ignored her warning about creatures. And there were creatures. There were definitely creatures.

Hefting one of the boys back by his overalls, Rosie dragged the injured kid back to the entrance as she shot at the hulking forms that clicked and whistled at them. The other boy had turned tail and run out of the tunnel without a backwards glance the second he heard the sounds.

When the dust settled and nothing moved inside the dim cavern she knelt over the boy and bandaged his wound as he spouted apologies and blood. Mostly blood. But she appreciated the apologies anyhow.

 

* * *

  
~/_\~   
[Hancock]

 

Hancock lounged against Daisy’s counter as she slipped a crumpled paper towards him. He’d agreed with Mystery that while she spied on Bobbi for him they couldn’t meet in person. Daisy had become their go-between since Mystery spent her nights on the ghoul’s floor.

He chatted for a while before heading back to the old state house to open the message. Holding the cipher page she gave him he carefully unfolded the paper and read.

__

_haigedn/ot/daodimn_

_myeab/aehv/ifno_

_etme/em/ta/hte/agahnmn ?_

_\--/--/-----/--/--_

_\        O_

_x                       x_

_\--------------------_

__

Hancock stared at the little map drawn on the message about as long as he tried to puzzle out the message itself. She’d briefly explained the code she was using but damn it was difficult to get used to. He narrowed his eyes as the meaning became somewhat apparent. He glanced at Fahrenheit who was reading over his shoulder, “You get any of this?”

Her lips pursed, “Maybe. And she was talking to Magnolia last night but she purposefully sat near me the entire time. Said something about an alley settlement near the river. …pretended to be piss drunk when she kissed Magnolia goodnight, ballsy move, but when she got outside she scaled a wall like a deathclaw and left town. Pretty sure she hadn’t touched more than one of Charlie’s piss terrible beers. Could be a trap ...want me to go meet her, boss?”

Hancock scowled, “Yeah. Find out what’s going on, but be careful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
>  _Franchement, ces guignols servent à rien._ = Frankly, these horns serve no purpose.
> 
> If you are curious I imagine that Love Tap might be something like this- http://mitzyblue.tumblr.com/post/139096811655/conceptinspiration-images-for-rosie-stones-pearl
> 
> As for the message-  
> Heading to Diamond (haigedn/ot/daodimn)  
> Maybe have info (myeab/aehv/ifno)  
> meet me at the hangman? (etme/em/ta/hte/agahnmn ?)
> 
> Alternate letters are written first then the leftovers. Words are divided by slashes.  
> For example-  
> Harbinger = H R I G R (then) A B N E  
> hrigrabne/si/a/raeapr  
> OR you can leave out the slashes.  
> hrigrabnesiaraeapr


	16. The Trouble With Tunnels

* * *

 

~~Ƒ~~  
[Fahrenheit]

 

Fahrenheit pressed open the gate to the little 'settlement'-- If you could even call it that. The turret at the gate hadn’t shot at her at least, but everything up to that moment felt like a trap. She’d had her two ghoul triggermen wait for her nearby out of sight until she really needed them. She narrowed her eyes as she looked around the smattering  of buildings and few people who were there. An old couple were digging in a fresh looking garden. Tiny plants had begun to sprout and push up from the hard ground. The old man kept a wary eye on her as he twisted the shovel to break up the hardened dirt.

Grinding her teeth, Fahr stepped forward.

A familiar face sauntered towards her. “She said someone would come by. Nice to see you, Fahrenheit. She’ll be back soon I think.” Nick Valentine spoke as he came to stand nearby.

Farh couldn't help but relax ever so slightly. This was someone she had _some_ trust in. “Hey, Detective. Chasing down run-a-way husbands?” As she spoke, her eyes found and lingered on the diamond city reporter who watched from the upstairs window of a rickety looking building. She’d never liked that girl. Too smart and too loud. And she’d turned her down that one time in the bar. It was just a drink. Fuck.

Nick shrugged, “Maybe. Blue hasn’t told me quite what’s going on. She seems very adept at leaving us in the dark but… I owe her my life and she’s paid me in advance to help her. Mor'n most do.”

Fahrenheit raised a brow. “You let yourself get hired but you don’t know what for? That’s not like you, Nick.”

He gave a sheepish grin. “She’s good people. I can’t normally say that but… she is.” His gaze traveled upwards and a small smile pressed over the worn robot's face as he spoke, “She’s back. ...that was quick. Thought she’d be another hour at least.”

Fahrenheit looked to where he was staring. At the top of the old building ran a figure silhouetted by the morning sun. Her eyes widened as the figure took a running leap off the roof and hit the ground with little more than a gentle plume of dust. Straightening, they began to dust themselves off. Mystery wore an outfit of dirty old rags and a pair of old welding goggles. Her face was covered with a smear of something dark and a healthy amount of dirt. It was almost impossible to recognize her until Fahrenheit saw the familiar pearl handled pistol flash as it caught the light.

Fahrenheit leaned against the wall and waited.

“Hello, Blue.”

Mystery’s head turned, “I like Mystery better, but the name doesn’t matter in the end. I have the information but…” her head bobbed a little as if she was trying to think of what to say, “there is a problem and I worry as to where it leads.”

Her arm came up and she fiddled with the pipboy clasped there before a recording played.

“ _That big wall of glass looming over diamond city is the Mayor's office. Most people don't know it, but there's a strongroom buried beneath. Mayor's just sitting on top of it. And that's our target._ ”

The voice was unmistakably Bobbi’s even with the distortion that muffled her tones.

Mystery lowered her arm and gestured over her shoulder towards one of the shacks, “Got something else too.”

Fahrenheit moved her hand to rest on her smaller gun while she followed the woman into the darkened shack. Once they were inside, Mystery flicked on a light powered by the outside generator and slipped a round canister from her shoulder as she spoke, “wasn’t sure I’d find it but--” She pulled out a roll of paper and began to place cram cans at the edges as she unrolled it-- “after getting the man Bobbi wanted released from jail, I detoured and stopped by the hall of records. Place was in shambles, but I found the plans for the field… there has never been a storeroom, vault, or safe under the old ballpark. Least not in that section. Whatever she plans on hitting… I don’t think that she told the truth. It was a convincing lie, but not one I believed.”

Mystery cupped her hands to her face as she lit a cigarette. It lit her face in an eerie orange glow that reflected off the welding goggles as she spoke, “I have to go soon though. No-nose expects me back soon since those whelps ran off. ...guess now I’m a hired gun _and_ in charge of digging. ...no pay raise though. Stingy bitch.”

Fahrenheit nodded towards the map, “You knew she was going to tell you... this? That’s why you asked to meet?”

“No. But I’m good at guessing.” Her hand slipped into her jacket and she pulled out a ratty looking book, “And I got ahold of this.”

Reaching slowly, Fahrenheit accepted the book, “And this is?”

“A journal.”

“Smart ass.”

She turned it over in her hand for a moment before opening it and skimming over the pages as Mystery talked, “Read through it mostways. She mentions cooking up the perfect plan. ...not liking the Mayor due to some disagreement. ...A few other things too but nothing concrete. She’s too smart to put it down in writing I think.” Her hand absently tapped at the blue inked building plans still spread on the table, “But the fact that she doesn't have this… too many puzzle pieces are out of line.” She stretched out her hand for the journal, “I’ll need that back though. Don’t think she knows it’s gone. Like to keep it that way.”

Fahrenheit handed back the journal, “You seem… better at this that I would have guessed.”

The grin across the table was feral as the mystery woman answered, _“Évidemment._ _”_

 

* * *

  
~/_\~   
[Hancock]

 

“ _Oh. Oh, geez. Someone get the boss. ...Yo, Sam, go tell the mayor some strange looking bloke just carried Fahrenheit towards the memory den… Yeah, I’ve never seen her look roughed up before. Geezus._ ”

Hancock jerked awake. After Fahrenheit had left he’d tried to work on notes at the terminal. Apparently, he’d fallen asleep. The sun was setting behind the buildings and the shadows had crawled out with the evening trash of goodneighbor. Grabbing his coat, he ran to the door and into one of the watchmen who’d been sent to get him.

“Hey boss-”

“I heard, Sam. I’m on my way. Thanks for letting me know.” Hancock rasped out as he shoved his arm through a sleeve.

He brushed passed the man and was out the door faster than you could say ‘brahmin’. When he got to the Memory Den, Irma was talking with Kent in hushed tones. Kent looked up as they came in, “Mayor Hancock! The Silver Shroud! The Silver Shroud saved Fahrenheit!”

Irma pushed the overly excited ghoul back towards his room, “Honey, you know that isn’t the case. Now go before you give Amari another fit. I promise to ask the ‘Shroud’ to come talk to you once they’ve been patched up.”

Hancock headed for the lower levels with a frown. There were smears of blood along the stairwell and he bit down his worry. Couldn’t be angry or worried. Had to be the mayor. But the knife-edge of worry pressed at him anyhow like a less-than-empty threat. At the last step, he ducked into the room. Fahrenheit gave him a pained grin and a wave from where Amari was patching her up. His own grin was forced as he walked up to her, “Hey, hotrod. You look like shit.”

She gave a wince when Amari jabbed a med-x needle into her semi-exposed thigh, “Yeah. Mystery pulled me out of a Super Mutant ambush. Lost Charlie and Doug. Gun jammed… thought I was a gonner.” The doctor pulled her arm up and she took a shaky, pained breath before continuing, “Listen, Bobbi’s dead. She tried to go after the safehouse. I gave her the option to go but… she didn’t take it.”

“Damn. And here I thought things might smooth over between us if I gave her time to cool down. Shit. How did that even happen? You were just supposed to be meeting Mystery… ” Hancock looked around the small room and realized that the black clad figure was nowhere to be seen. “Where is she anyhow? Was she the one who brought you in?”

Amari looked up from the stitches she’d begun on Fahrenheit’s side and silently gestured towards the doctor's back room. The door was open a crack and he could see a dark form slumped against the wall. He glanced between them, “Is she….?”

“She wasn’t hurt but she was looking off when she came up from the tunnel they dug. Asked us not to disturb her,” Fahrenheit muttered. “Looked fine this morning when we met.” Her eyes were glossy and he could see she was already fighting to stay coherent with the med-x in her system.

He walked over and pushed open the door to where he could see Mystery.

She sat against the wall of the bathroom and at first looked to simply be resting. When he knelt, he saw that trails of blood from her nose and eyes had begun to dry. Her lips were dry and chapped and her breathing shallow. When he brushed a hand against her cheek, he found that she was near burning to the touch, “...shit. Hey, Doc? I don’t mean to alarm you, but I think she might need your attention.”

Amari let out a frustrated sigh, “Hancock I’m _really_ not this kind of ‘doctor’. Just… just let me finish these stitches and I’ll see what I can do.”

Hancock slipped one arm under Mystery’s legs and the other around her shoulders and lifted, “Doc. I’m not fucking kidding. I think this might be more serious.”

Amari looked up as if she wanted to snap again but her eyes locked onto Mystery’s face as he carried her over.

“Oh my. It must be radiation again. Her pipboy should have a scanner to tell you her current medical status. I’ll do what can, but you’d best talk to Daisy. She’s got some medical supplies that could help and she’s actually a better doctor than I am. She mentioned it last time in passing.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Évidemment - obviously


	17. We Get Up and We Get Down

* * *

 

  ~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

Rosie woke up the the peeling ceiling of Daisy’s home. It was nothing like the little flat her aunt had once had. White curtains, bags of 'to be roasted' coffee beans always piled in a corner, and the never-ending noise from the terrible little birds Daisy'd loved so much.

“Hey, Blue, glad to see you awake.” Piper said from the chair she was curled in.

Mayor Hancock was sprawled and seemingly asleep over a couch just below the window. Rosie frowned, there hadn’t been a couch there before. A noise nearby made her shift her head and she saw that Nick sat at the lip of the old mattress. He put down the book he was reading and smiled down at her, “Hey, kid. Glad to see you decided to wake up.”

His hand steadied her as she sat up and shifted to lean against him. Her eyes lingered around the room before she asked, “Why are you all here?”

Nick and Piper shared a look before Hancock spoke from the couch, “I had Fahr get them. She said they were waiting for you and… well it didn’t look like you were waking up anytime soon.”

 “Hm.” she grunted as she glanced at the pipboy clasped to her wrist. It took her longer than she cared for to process the date and her brow drew together in a scowl as she spoke, “....a week? ...shit. Mac is going to have kittens.” Her voice came out raspy and dry.

When Nick chuckled, it didn’t come from his chest but it still held a rich sound. It was strange but nice. He dragged a rugged looking blanket over and draped it over her before snaking his arm around her to shift her into a better position. She was damn near almost in his lap now, but it didn’t tweak her back as much. Still everything seemed to ache fiercely and her mouth felt dry as a damn desert. She leaned her head against him while thinking to herself, _at least he was warm_. The chill that made her ache seemed annoyingly persistent. She'd always struggled with being cold since project alpha but it had been worse lately.

“Fuckin cold,” She muttered with a sigh. His arm seemed to wrap tighter around her and her eyes fluttered closed.

 

* * *

 

~ ♥ ~  
[Nick Valentine]

 

Valentine scowled at Piper who was trying to bury her laughter in the other book that Daisy had lent them. Blue, or as Hancock referred to her, ‘Mystery’, had  fallen asleep against him. He didn’t mind really, for the past week he’d sat beside her keeping an eye on her condition. Before that, they’d had a smattering of chats that had shown him the glimmer of who she was. Every interaction left a feeling sparking in his mind like the programmed craving to smoke. There was a want bordering on need for more when it came to her and he still wasn't sure why. More info. More time. More.

Hancock lit a cig and leaned back against the couch, “aaand she’s out again. The waking up is a good sign though. Shit, I thought I was gonna have to fit the dame for a chicago overcoat. Glad to be wrong.”

Piper set down her book and stretched, “Daisy said she had some sort of rare condition when she took that scan.”

Valentine glanced at the sleeping woman before answering, “Electromagnetic hypersensitivity.  Makes sense if she’s a vault kid.”

Blue muttered sleepily from his chest, “...not a vault kid… wanker.”

Hancock nearly inhaled his cigarette laughing as Valentine glanced down at his charge. She appeared to still be sleeping. The soft thump of footsteps on the stairs announced Daisy coming up to check on them or make a purchased meal on the tiny stove. The old ghoul peeked around the corner, “Was she up?”

Piper gave a nod and stretched, “yeah. Just a couple of minutes. She’s mumbled in her sleep too.”

Daisy hm’d, “she used to do that a lot when she was little.” And then the old ghoul was heading back down the stairs.

Hancock got up off the couch and shouted after, “wait the fuck up. What?”

Daisy’s shush could be heard through the floor and Nick glanced down at Blue. That was an interesting fact to learn. It was well known that the ghoul woman had done a lot of traveling before settling in goodneighbor about fifteen years back. She could have done any number of things or known any number of people before then. Rumor was that she was one of the few pre-war ghouls. There were a lot of secrets and unknowns when it came to Daisy. Hell, they hadn’t known until Blue took ill that Daisy had medical training.

Nick picked his book back up and stared at the page. He didn’t read the words. Too many mysteries and puzzle pieces to think over.

 

* * *

 

 ~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

 

Rosie slowly rolled and packed supplies for heading to sanctuary.

“Are you sure you’re up for traveling, hon?” Daisy ask from where she was leaning against the wall.

Forcing a smile, Rosie nodded, “Yeah. I’m alright. Still feel a little nauseous but… I’ve felt that way since…” She glanced to where the others were waiting for her. They probably couldn’t hear and it’s not like they wouldn't find out soon enough but she still didn’t like saying it where someone might overhear.  She shrugged, “I’ll be fine. Got a full team now with the Mayor tagging along. Still not sure why he wants to..." her thoughts wandered and after a moment her mind alighted on an idea, "…will that caravan you’re in contact with be able to bring the blankets and food I’ve requested?”

Daisy nodded, “Of course, sugar. You’ll have to talk to the people on Bunker hill about the other stuff though. …Hun, these people have lived through winters with less. They’ll be fine.”

“I… I know.” Rosie’s hand clenched on her bag, “but I took the same vow as dad. … and I’ve failed so many. Assisting this settlement is the least I can do. ...I’ll be back in a week or two. Just need to make sure everyone is alive and then I’ll be back to talk to the Kent kid and trade all the things I… scavenge.”

Daisy laughed and shook her head, “You’ll get used to it, honey.”

Or die, Rosie thought sadly.

* * *

  
~ ♥ ~  
[Nick Valentine]  


 

Valentine saw it first.

“Shit. WE HAVE A BOOMER!” He shouted as he grabbed Piper and pulled her back. Mystery edged backwards, still firing at the Mirelurks that were coming towards them.

“BLUE! That car is gonna blow! Get back!” Piper screamed while trying to jam a fresh clip into her gun.

Mystery turned and wrenched one of the old car doors off it’s hinges using her uninjured arm. Valentine knew his mouth had gone slack as he watched her continue her slow retreat while using the door like a shield. Even he would have had trouble doing that move and he wasn’t recovering from radiation sickness. Within moments she’d made her way back far enough to come to a crouch next to where he and Piper hunkered.

Then the fire hit the car’s engine.

The resulting explosion was a rain of metal debris and a small mushroom cloud. Nearby, Mayor Hancock muttered something about being too near to the radiation for squishy folks but Nick didn’t hear it as Piper pushed past him at a run to get away. His attention was focused on Mystery. A look of horror had fallen over her face and she collapsed to her knees. One arm came up to shield her eyes- the improv-shield now forgotten.

Nick knew that look.

He was sure that he’d get that look whenever he had a flash of one of original Nick’s memories and he'd seen it on some of the old soldiers who worked the department after their tour was up. That was the look of someone lost in their mind. A battle ten-thousand miles and another time away. 

 

* * *

 

 ~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

 

Rosie saw the flash from the car. Her partially repaired eye gave her an almost clear image as the car’s engine went critical. Bright light and a rolling ploom of smoke. Then she was standing on the door the the vault. Everything was dim and blurry even though she knew it was still daylight outside. The roar of the pressure wave was almost deafening as she reached out blindly for Nate and Shaun. They had to be in front of her somewhere. She had to keep them safe.

Hands closed on empty air.

But her mind wasn’t done. By god, she wished it was though. Hot air was replaced by biting cold and she was holding a door closed with a sad but stubborn smile once again. Nate beat on the glass with the rest of her team. Frantic angry faces stared at her and words were muffled to non existence through the thick bulletproof glass. Tick, tick, tick. And the bombs hit. The explosion and fire ripped through her balistic armor and shards of metal cut at her skin. Blinding pain as she was knocked back by debris. The sky had been revealed in the explosion and the world was a mix of snowy white and fire reds that bled like her own spreading stain in the snow. A shaking burned hand drifted to touch her stomach. It was her job. It had always been her job. Put others before yourself… and her possible child.

She hoped Nate would forgive her.

A part of her thought that maybe he never really had.

A choked sob escaped her lips. A shuddering breath. A very distant part of her knew she needed to pull herself together, but it felt like the explosion had ripped apart the seams that she was only barely holding onto in the first place. Too many holes for the sands of memory to stream through. Too much strain for a broken package.

Cold metal touched her arm. A hand. It grounded her as she was pulled up into the arms of her detective companion.

“Unless you’re itchin for a green suntan I suggest we get a move on, doll,” he said softly. Lips against her ear as he hefted her up. His voice seemed far away and was difficult to understand.

Her hand clenched around the handle of her gun, but she still felt frozen and lost in her head. It was more habit than purposeful action. Then he was settling her down, her back against another old car. His skinned hand was pressed to her cheek, “Blue? … Mystery? Godammit, doll, this ain't really a safe place to go to pieces. …common, kid, snap out of it.” His touch was gentle- as if she might break at any minute. A cup that would shatter to a million porcelain fragments that could never fit back together. One more broken thing in the wastes.

She refused to be that.

Rosie reached up and grasped his hand shakily as she pulled herself out of the trenches of memory. “Just… one minute.”

Swallowing hard, her head bowed and she took a shaky breath as she fought back the old memories. No doctors in this time to help an old soldier with ptsd. She had a job to do. Her son needed her to stay strong. These people who were following her command needed her. The settlers in Sanctuary needed her.

Another breath and she released Nick’s hand and pushed from the ground.

“Blue, you okay?” Piper asked from her left.

Swallowing hard, Rosie gave a curt nod, “a-...apologies.”

She took another shaky breath and smoothed a hand over her hair. The habit was soothing but the twinge in her arm reminded her that she’d gotten caught by the sharp claws of one of the giant crab creatures. Glancing around the group she visually checked them for injuries. Hancock looked unfazed as he paced around with his shotgun. Piper had a thin scratch on her cheek that trickled blood down to her chin. And Valentine had a smear of blood across his jacket. Her eyes locked on the red stain and she realized that he wasn’t hurt- it was her blood that he’d gotten on him.


	18. Heart Of The Tin Man

* * *

 

 ~ʭ@ʭ~  
[Paladin Danse]

 

Impudent bitch.

The woman had held a hand up to silence him before kneeling down and checking over the ghoul bodies that lay scattered on the ground. Paladin Danse felt his trigger finger give an  involuntary twitch as his mouth snapped closed. Golden brown eyes burned with his fury as he glanced to the strange group that followed the woman. When they’d shown up, he’d almost shot the ghoul till he’d realized that it was with her. Disgusting.

No one would meet his eyes but the synth, who simply gave a shrug and lit a cigarette. Danse didn’t fail to notice that the robotic hand lingered next to the pistol it carried. Although the battle was over for now, it still expected trouble. It would be an admirable trait if _it_ wasn’t a synth.  

Danse glanced back at the woman to watch as she slowly turned the face of a Ghoul and closed it’s eyes.

“The hell?” he muttered. This woman had too much sick respect for these abominations.

Her face turned towards him and she stood. The glasses dipped with the movement of her head as she appeared to look him over-- it was a little hard to tell with her mirrored shades blocking her eyes though. Her hand rested on her hip next to her gun and eventually she gave him a nod. He took that as initiative to speak, “We... _appreciate_ the assistance, _civilian_ , but what is your business here?”

Her head tilted slightly and pretty lips pursed for a second before she answered in a single curt word, “Ferals.”

“Evading my question is a surefire way to get yourself ejected from the compound.”

The corners of her lips turned down but she remained silent. Danse felt the beginnings of a twitch of annoyance in his left eyelid as he shifted his grip on his gun. “I asked you a question, civilian. ...Are you from a local settlement?”

Instead of answering, her arm came up and she typed something into the pipboy clasped to it. When she finally spoke, it was once more not an answer, “I can be contacted by broadcasting on the frequency of Zero-Zero-Bravo-Lima-Uniform-Echo-One-One-One. I will leave my channel open should you require assistance in the future.”

The synth gave a simulated sigh and shook it's head before snuffing out the cigarette with the toe of an old boot and moved towards the exit where the ghoul and lady in red waited. Danse eyed the pipboy on the leader’s wrist before making a decision.

“Halt,” he snapped as he grabbed for her arm.

 

* * *

 

~ ♥ ~  
[Nick Valentine]

 

Nick had thankfully never come in contact with the brotherhood since waking in the garbage. Probably for the best, with their view on synths. He wasn’t so sure that he was pleased to have started now. When they’d heard the distress call, he’d felt the familiar spark of guilt when his first reaction was to hope they were all dead and that the message was old. But even guilt hadn’t made him want to go and help. He’d been annoyed about it enough to almost suggest that he wait somewhere nearby.

Of course then he would have missed seeing a man in power armor fly.

Honestly, he didn’t blame the brotherhood man for being waspish. Mystery was difficult to communicate with on most days but she’d been more on edge since waking from her latest bought of radiation poisoning. Heck, question as Valentine might over the last few weeks, he hadn’t gotten much. She had told him who she was looking for though. A mercenary with a scar, and a voice like sandpaper and honey. That man had taken something from her. Valentine was sure she was talking about Kellogg but they couldn’t be sure until they returned to diamond city.

Of course when the paladin grabbed her arm… that was a different story altogether. Nick slipped his gun out of it’s holster before he registered that the walking cram can was hurtling towards the ground.

“SIR!” An alarmed shout was barked from the female scribe near the top of the stairs.

Everyone went for their guns before Blue stopped them with a single word, “No.”

Her glasses had fallen off and some of her hair tumbled down from where it was normally pinned. She knelt, one knee on the paladin’s armored chest as she snarled down at him, “Have I given you permission to touch me, POG?”

Nick lowered his gun and Piper mouthed a question at him. Pawg? He simply shrugged. The only people he'd known to use that term had died over two hundred years prior. Perhaps it was a new vaultie cursword. He didn't dwell on it much longer as he watched Mystery’s lip curled in a silent snarl. Grabbing one of the handles on the front of the paladin’s armor, she hauled the dazed looking man upwards. Nick had seen displays of her strength in the past, but it was near insane to see her lift a suit of power armor on her own. Of course the servos were probably helping but... still. That shouldn’t be possible.

 

* * *

 

~ʭ@ʭ~  
[Paladin Danse]

 

Danse coughed and gave a mental check of himself before meeting her eyes. Now he could see why she wore the glasses. Scars riddled the right side of her face and one of her eyes looked to be blind. The other eye had marks and bruising from a possible recent surgery. The bruises were starting to yellow though-- it had to be a week old at least. Taking a deep breath to shove aside his anger and startlement at being tossed like a cadet, he said, “I apologize. I--”

His apology stalled as his eyes trailed down to the arm that he’d grabbed and he saw the spreading stain of blood on the rag tied there. If it had been possible he would have kicked himself. Of course she’d reacted angrily. He’d grabbed the arm without thinking and he could now see that most of it had obvious bindings.

“Blue, you’re bleeding,” the female in the red coat muttered to the leader.

The one called Blue bent and picked up her shades from the ground. She didn’t dust them off as she slipped them back on.  Thin, scarred, dainty fingers pressing them up a nose that had obviously been broken in the past. She did dust off her hat though before tucking her hair and carefully pinning her hat back in place.

“I’m fine, Piper.”

She turned to go again and Danse called out, “Wait. I--” throat tightening, he cleared it before continuing, “I apologize. I need to get the injured indoors, but if you need medical treatment then scribe Haylen may be able to assist once she’s done with Knight Rhys.”

Blue glanced down at her arm, “I can dress the wound myself. How injured is your Knight Rhys.”

Danse bit back a sigh of annoyance as Rhys snarked from the top of the stairs, “I’m still alive enough to kick your ass, you piece of Commonwealth trash.”

Thick lips turned downwards, “ _Charmant_.” She was silent for a moment before asking, “Do you have any alcohol?”

Danse felt a surge of disgust, “No, of course we don’t. That vile poison dulls the mind.”

The ghoul chuckled, “Don’t think the lady was asking for a drink, mate.”

Blue glanced at the ghoul and then back to Danse before saying, “Need to sterilize the wound. Had a run in with a… giant crab.”

“Mirelurk,” The synth corrected from nearby.

She nodded and her head tilted as if she was looking to her arm, “Yes. Mire-lurk. Disgusting, filthy creature but that seems standard nowadays.”

Odd phrasing. Danse didn't stop to wonder over it further as he frowned and gestured over his shoulder, “We have antiseptic but I warn you, our supplies are low.”

A thoughtful frown that almost matched his own flickered over her face briefly like someone flicking through the pages of a book, “Hm. ...What do you need most?”

Danse stared at her and against his better judgment began recited the ever trailing worry that had been eating at his mind for the last week, “We’re low on stimpacks, almost out of food and water, we only have a handful of fusion cells and I’m down to three Fusion Cores.”

She scratched at the corner of her mouth with her thumb before speaking, “Give me thirty minutes… maybe an hour and I will return.”

And with that she was gone. Black clad hips disappeared around the corner of the barrier without a backward glance. Danse helped Rhys inside then returned to patrol outside and see if the woman and her strange group would return. An hour ticked by. Then two. He told himself that at three he would go back inside. At four hours he was still standing outside when he heard the heavy slow sound of footsteps.

Around the corner the group came. The synth was carrying Blue. Her head was bandaged and blood matted half her face. Both the girl in the red jacket and the ghoul were carrying large packs.

“Yo, Dust-bucket, you wanna give us a hand? Or are you set to gawk while I haul your trash?” The girl in red snarked.

Danse sprang to action and took the bag from the girl in red before leading the way into the base. As Scribe Haylen looked over Blue, Danse asked the two what had happened.

 

“Piper, you go ahead and tell him. I’m going to keep watch outside with Hancock,” the Synth muttered.

The girl, Piper, nodded, “Alright, Nick. I’ll let you know when she wakes up.” Her expressive hands fluttered as she adjusted her cap, “Boy, this sure isn’t her week.”

Danse watched the synth go before turning his attention to the one called Piper.

Piper threw her hands into the air in apparent frustration, “I was careless and she got the result. We went back for some gear she’d stashed, uh, nearby and ran into a Super Mutant group. My gun jammed and Blue leapt in and took a blow. I’ll be honest, I’ve never seen someone get a facefull of sledgehammer and pretend it never happened but… she did it. She... she does that a lot actually.”

Piper adjusted her hat, “Anyhow, we downed the last of the mutants and rescued someone they’d been holding hostage.  Blue gave him some supplies and we started to head back you know? Everything was hunky-dory. Nicky and I didn’t even know something was wrong until she just… disappeared. Hancock noticed it first.” Piper paused to rub at her forehead and sigh, “Found her in the shadow of a building after about a half hour of looking… I don’t know why she’d just leave like that. Then again… it’s not like she’s chatty.”

Danse looked over at Haylen who was checking over the still form.

Piper gestured towards the bag, “She got everything on your shopping list by the way. Isn’t really much, but she was hoping it would help. She said something about what was in the other bag but I, uh, wasn’t listening.” Her lower lip was caught between her teeth after the last statement drifted away with the guilty admission.

Danse stared at the bag she’d gestured at, “How much for it?”

“Nothing,” Blue rasped out as she struggled to sit up. She swatted Haylen’s hands away and stood shakily with one hand braced on the wall.

Piper fidgeted, “Blue, you really shouldn’t be up and about…”

Blue fished in one of her pockets and pulled out a new pair of shades. These ones were dark. Unlike the previous ones that always reflected an eeri replica of the world, these ones were not reflective and it was like staring into a void. “Too bad. We need to get to Sanctuary.”

“I- I’ll get Nick and tell John you’re okay,” Piper said as she ducked out of the room.

The only sound was the front of the station door as it closed.

Danse frowned down at the woman, “No one helps for free. What do I owe you?”

Blue took a step forward and he leapt forward as her knees gave out and she stumbled. Catching her, he gently helped sit her on one of the chairs. At this distance he couldn’t help but notice that small freckles dotted her dark skin. An oilspray of dots that dotted over an oval face.

He knelt down beside her, “I’m curious. Forgive my presumptions but you seem like a soldier. I assume you aren’t brotherhood since you don't wear our tags... You’re not Enclave are you?”

“Enclave?” She asked while her hand came up to touch at the bandage, “No.” She gave a heavy sigh and pulled the glasses off to rub at her eyes as she muttered, “Never made it that far in my career. Guess that’s for the best though.”

~

Paladine Danse watched as the strange group of people left.

The ghoul had called her Mystery. The girl had called her Blue. The synth had jokingly referred to her as ‘the dame with no name’. Who she was… it seemed no one in her sick little group knew. Either way, she’d saved him and his squad and he was grateful. Disgusted and confused, but also grateful.

The biggest surprise had come while she had been recovering. After waving off more rest and Scribe Haylen’s help, the woman had disappeared into one of the back rooms with one of the supply bags.  After several awkward hours of staring at a grouchy ghoul and tense synth, the woman had emerged and instructed him and Haylen on where to place the turret she’d just cobbled together from scraps and how to operate the controls should it malfunction.

Even Rhys had been impressed by that development.

Then the woman had left.

Sighing, he headed back inside to retrieve the turret and set it up. She’d actually had a good suggestion on where to mount it. He wasn’t sure that she hadn’t been lying about not being Enclave, but one thing was for certain- she saved them in more ways than one. They could use more members of the Brotherhood like her. Lifting the turret, he wondered idly if they would ever meet again- then vowed to himself that if they did he might try asking if she would want to join the brotherhood.

A flutter caught his eye and he looked down.

A paper flower had fallen off the turret and was now laying on the floor.

“Scribe Haylen?” He called.

The scribe's voice carried over from the next room, “Danse?... Something wrong?”

Her footsteps thumped along the rotting floorboards as she came to see why he'd called. When she peeked around the corner, Danse nodded his head towards the flower. “Could you grab that for me? Looks like our visitor left a… gift?”

Haylen bent to pick it up and her eyes examined the folded treasure quickly before she nodded, “It says ‘open me’ on the bottom. Did you want me to or… I can put it on the counter for when you have time to look at it?”

Danse chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment before shaking his head, “Read it if you want. I’ll look over it later once I’ve gotten this installed.”

She gave a curt nod. Without her hood, the action sent a few of her warm blond strand tumbling out of place and she tucked them back with a quick hand as she followed him. Moving to hold the door open for him, she spoke as they headed outside, “With Rhys injured, how did we want to take watch?”

"Hmm. Good question. Give me a moment." Lumbering up the stairs, Danse hefted the turret and planted it on the railing where it had the best range for incoming attackers from either side. A few cinder blocks placed to keep it balanced and he had finally decided what he was going to do. “I’ll take the watch for tonight. You keep an eye on Rhys.”

Haylen snorted, “Like hell. I’ll take orders all day long, but you haven’t slept in days. We’ll hear the turret if anything attacks and I can sit out here for a while if you want. Hell, Rhys is well enough to sit out here and hold a gun if he needs to but you need rest Danse.”

Danse searched around the side of the turret to find the switch that the woman had pointed out to him for starting it. He fought back an amused grin as he found the switch and realized that it was a bent fork. Pressing it upwards the turret began to chug and hum a mechanical pur.

“Rhys is already up and about?” He asked,heading down the stairs to set up some of the mines that had also been left with the supplies. The woman had been beyond generous. He’d have to make sure she was repaid somehow. That is, if she ever came back.

Haylen nodded with an amused raise to her eyebrow, “He saw that civilian brush off her injury and build a turret with a concussion- of course he’s up.”

Danse worked carefully, placing the mines strategically so that it wouldn't damage the barriers if set off- but would kill whoever triggered them. Once finished, he headed back indoors with Haylen and exited his power armor. As he stretched he mused, “I’m not so sure she’s really a civilian.” He said while rubbing a kink out of his neck. A satisfying pop came from his spine as he tilted his head.

Haylen handed him the still folded note, “Well, whatever she is, she saved our asses today, sir.”

Danse nodded, and sat down at the little table. His fingers were stiff from being in the power armor all day and he fumbled with unfolding the paper.

__  
_Paladin Danse,_

_I intend to be returning in this direction within a few days- possibly a week._

_Scribe Haylen mentioned needing assistance retrieving_

_a deep range transmitter from a nearby location._

_I am willing to help._

_If you should wish my assistance sooner_

_broadcast on Channel_ **_0-0-B-L-U-E-1-1-1_ ** _._

 

_Memores acti prudentes futuri._

_~Semper fidelis~_

_R._

_Ps- Don't mess with the algorithms.  
    Look, but don't touch.  
_ ____

 

Danse stared at the letter in his hand.  The latin script seemed familiar but he didn’t seem to remember the translation.

“Sarah? How good is your latin?” He asked looking towards the scribe.

Haylen raised a brow from where she sat sipping some water, “Poor. Rhys is better at it. Why? ...Did she write in latin?”

Danse offered the paper up to her and she took it while nibbling a wrap of meat that had been in the pack the woman had given.

“ _Memores acti prudentes futuri, Semper fidelis_ ? I think _Semper fidelis_ is ‘always faithful’. It was commonly used by certain american military factions before the war as a motto. I think specifically the marines but I’d have to check the archives.”

Rhys cut in from where he was leaning on the doorframe, “ _Memores acti prudentes futuri._ Mindful of what has been done, aware of what will be. …Surprised you didn’t know that one Danse.”

Danse shook his head while suppressing a grimace. “I should have.”

Haylen pointed her food at him with a glare, “Well you haven’t slept in several days. I’m surprised you can walk let alone attempt to read latin.”

Rhys nodded, “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard. Sarah is right.” He walked slowly and sat down at the table. His hand stretched out towards Haylen as he asked, “May I?”

Scribe Haylen handed the paper over before getting up and grabbing two cans of water and bringing them over. Setting them down she said, “I’ll sit outside and take watch while you two rest. In the meantime, it’s doctor’s orders that you drink, eat, and rest.”

Chuckling, Danse gave her a sharp nod and tried to keep the itch of sarcasm out of his voice, “Yes, ma’am.”

Danse waited until the front door had closed before slowly opening the water and taking a drink. They’d been rationing for so long that it was difficult to get himself to take more than a few sips but he knew she was right.

After a few minutes Rhys hm’d and set down the letter to open his own water.

Danse leaned back in his chair, “She learned to be that bossy from you, youknow.”

Rhys snorted, “Good. Someone had to teach her how. …are we really going to accept help from the civilian?”

Rubbing under his chin, Danse gave a shrug, “We have no reason not to so far. I assume she heard our distress beacon and assisted. When we were wounded and I had less than 1% of a core she and her group could have attacked and easily overpowered us. Instead, she brought supplies.” Danse shifted to look at the bag of supplies again and shook his head, “There are twenty Fusion cores in there. I don’t even know how she got that many so quick. Water, cells, food, medical. She built a turret using spare parts. I’ll be honest, Rhys, I hope she comes back. I think she’d be an amazing asset to the brotherhood.”

Rhys heaved a sigh and ran a hand down his face, “Yeah. But aren’t you forgetting when she tossed your ass into the dirt?”

Danse stared petulantly down at his water, “No.”

Rhys chuckled, “As pissed as I was, it was pretty impressive.”

“Yeah… yeah it was.”

 


	19. A Little Bit of Insight

* * *

 

~/_\~   
[Hancock]

 

 Hancock couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Did she… did she really just waste a can of water to wash her hands?” Piper hissed next to him.

Mystery scowled harder as she scrubbed furiously at her hands with more soap and then tipped the last of the can using her knees. Hancock knew she had to of heard Piper by the tight line of her mouth, but she didn’t stop as she used her undershirt to wipe her hands dry before shoving the empty can into her pack and walking off. Not another word was spoken about the strange behavior. Honestly, no one dared to try. Well Piper had started too, but a glance at the scowl worn by their 'leader' had seemingly changed her mind. 

Hancock drifted behind the group as they set off, watching their backs and enjoying the calm autumn air. They were making good time to wherever they were going. He hadn't bothered to really pay attention when Piper had questioned for the details on where they were going. Behind them, the town was quickly receding along the horizon. Though, stopping to help the Brotherhood assholes had set them back enough that they’d need to make camp soon or end up walking in the dark. With Mystery’s condition… he didn’t favor that. He wasn't below admitting he worried for the gal. She pushed herself at a brutal pace even injured. Shit, she was still recovering from everything else and now the day's excitement had left her a bruised and slowly moving mess.  

“Hey, kid. I’ve got a question,” Valentine broke into Hancock’s reverie and he listened to the budding conversation with mild interest. The detective always toed in with good questions and Mystery seemed to give Nick the most interesting answers.

Hancock watched as her arm came up to take a drag from the cig she was holding before her head dipped slightly in an acknowledging nod, “Ask.”

“I get that you seem to help near _everyone_ , but I was wondering why. Nice looking dame like you could easily make her way in the wasteland without going out of your way for folks like the brotherhood.” The synth’s hands were shoved deep in his pockets but from his position a the back, Hancock couldn’t see either of their faces.

 

“Everyone looks the same dead.”

 

The answer was simple. Monotone. But it held something precious all the same.

Valentine pressed on though, “not _everyone_ , doll.”

Mystery stopped short and Piper nearly walked into her. There was a sour, pained twist to Mystery’s face as she turned to ask, “What difference is there?”

Valentine grumbled for a moment before giving a more audible answer, “We’ll we’re not exactly made of the same parts…”

She pulled off her sunglasses and squinted at the synth before turning her gaze on Hancock. After a moment of silence she slipped the sunglasses back on and he almost missed the slight dip to her head as she looked down at her leg, “Everyone, Mr. Valentine. Everyone.”

No one else seemed to know the significance of what she said.

But Hancock knew.

He knew and shit if he didn't agree.

 _Everyone_ looks the same dead.

 

* * *

 

 ~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

 

Rosie nibbled the last of the dried fruit she’d saved from Vault 81.

The others were eating something fresh caught, a sort of two headed deer. She didn't dare touch it since her stomach still rolled unpleasantly from the radiation. It still smelled pretty good if she was honest. That didn’t change the fact she couldn’t eat it just yet.

Her earlier conversation with the detective kept rattling around in her head like Codsworth puttering around the house. Damn, she missed him. It would probably be another half a day before they reached Sanctuary and she desperately hoped that everyone was okay.

Just one more day, right? Hold it together until then.

Stay solid.

Stay Stone.

Old training rattled in her head like a slowly moving train. The alpha program had changed her. She knew that much. Since they'd 'removed' some memories she was never entirely sure how much, but she knew she'd changed. When she'd first been able to visit home, it had been obvious by the little glances and occasional conversation slip. People stumbled on her new name. Sometimes, they slipped and started on the first one but she always got a strange ringing in her ears for what they said. There had been so much that she'd given up for this damn war. In the end... it seemed that none of it was really worth it.   
She pushed away the thoughts and repeated the line under her breath as she tipped back the last of her water. "Stay solid. Stay Stone."

 

~~

 

Rosie stood with her head pressed against the glass of the cryo chamber that held her husband. It felt like it had taken them forever to get back to Sanctuary since she’d been injured and forced to go slower than she wanted. Another full day of travel-- it had been dark once they’d finally arrived. She’s slipped away once introductions were made and people were settling in. For the few who’d questioned as to where she was ‘running off to’ she gave her best glare and said she needed some alone time.

It was true.

No one needed to see this. The vault was little more than a crypt now. Every pod sealed shut. Nothing more than windowed caskets of her past. A macabre part of her thought that maybe things would have been better if she had died with them all.

It was worse now that she could see everything. When she’d woken originally, she’d been blind and the lights had been too dim for her broken eyes to see by. Foggy distant shapes and light that played off rare surfaces.It had been a limping scramble with leaky lactating breasts to find the freshly missing child. A vault of deathly quiet broken by the terrifying alarm. She hadn’t even known what a radroach was at the time and to have it attack… she still had the now scarring gashes on her arms from where the pincers and bladed legs had gotten her.

Thank god Duke had been near the entrance of the vault. Though she’d almost hit him with the baton she’d picked up by chance. Blurry form trotting towards her, she’d still been on high alert, bleeding, and admittedly terrified. Damn smart dog.

He’d kept his distance and barked and whined until she took a chance and let him near.

Shaky fingers traced the condensation that had beaded on the outside of case that held Nate’s body. Over a month and the vault was still the near-freezing temperature that it had been when she first woke and crawled out to find the world a rusted skeleton of what it once was.  “Hello darling,” she said softly. “It’s been a while, huh? …”

She turned and slid down to sit to the floor of the vault. For the first time, she could see the chamber that had held her prisoner for over two hundred years. She was still nearly blind in her left eye, but the operation Doctor Sun had performed to remove some of the scar tissue covering her cornea had been successful.  Now her left eye was more of a pale silver instead of the strange filmed over blue. Still not normal but… what  _was_ nowdays? A part of her wished she hadn't done the operation. That this room hadn't sharpened into focus and that she could see the shambles of a place she once called home.

Her hand came up to the bandages over her forehead and drifted down the the new scars on her arm as she spoke to her dead companion, “Got some new scars. You’d like them. You were always weird in liking my scars. What did you call them when you joked? Dashing? Yeah… that was it. I’d call these ones rookie mistakes. Or maybe examples of soft hearted stupidity.”

 

* * *

 

~[o]~  
[Piper]

 

Piper edged down the hall with the rest of the group. Curiosity had eaten at their bellies like bad ragstag meat until they’d all agreed to just ‘see’ what she was up to. Valentine had protested the most, but now he was at the head of the pack as they all snuck down the deathly quiet halls of the vault where they’d seen Blue head. They still hadn’t gotten a name out of her but that was fine. Mystery. Blue. The name didn't’ matter when Piper had gotten coat-tails of the story of the century. A day would come when she’d learn more and she wouldn’t miss it for anything.

It wasn’t long before they could hear a voice. Blue’s voice.

For once she didn’t sound like a stone cold badass who took on an entire tower of super mutants without batting an eye and only came away from it with a scrape on her cheek and a dislocated finger from literally punching one of the hulking green skinned brutes out of a window. No, she sounded like a woman who was lost and lonely. “The world has changed. You know how people were so paranoid? The boogeyman was anyone who didn’t have the right skin color or speak the same language. Now… monsters are a little more real.”

Dry laughter with little actual humor behind it could be heard as Piper peeked around the edge of the wall. Her knee was pressing gently on Nick’s crouched form as he too snuck a glance around the corner. The others all leaned over in their own positions as they listened and tried to peek without getting caught.

Blue sat on the floor on the far side of the room, slouched against one of the many cryo pods as she took a drag from a cigarette. Smoke curled around the room, mixing with the cold mist that lay on the floor. 

“Think I might be one of them.  People don’t seem to mind though…. Over two hundred years and the killing still hasn’t stopped. It’s the same world with a different coat of paint. …I miss you. Last night I had a dream that we were Picnicking at Walden Pond with Sally and Jack again. We were eating those damn delicious burgers that Jack would grill. Was it red wine he’d put on everything? Huh… I can’t remember. …I miss the food. Not as much as I miss you and Bishop, but there aren’t a lot of spice gardens in the ‘wasteland’ as they call it.”

Another shaky puff of smoke curled in the air as she took another drag from her cigarette before continuing, “…started using again. Old habits break hard I guess. Told myself that I was done with that once I was out of the military. For your sake.  For Shaun’s... but… too many nights spent sleeping with my eyes open. Not like I could see anything anyhow but you know what I mean. ….”

Silence.

No one dared to move though they had all begun to realize what they were listening to. The only sound seemed to be quiet crying punctuated by broken laughter and mumbled one-sided conversation.

No one dared to breath until, Blue stood up and kissed the glass of the chamber.

“I gotta go babe. See a man about a horse.” She chuckled, “Not that people have horses anymore. Pity that. My feet are damn sore. What I wouldn't give for a pair of good new boots. …God … You should see the cows. Or better yet, the fucking crabs. They call them Mirelurks. 'Big as houses', John would say. You should see the radiation storms though, my love. I know people are afraid of them but they’re… beautiful. It’s so sick and twisted but I’ve never seen something so amazing. … I haven’t found Shaun yet. I’ll find our little boy though. And I… I’ll get the bastard that killed you. I know you’d want me to forgive him. You were always soft, but it… it wouldn’t be for you. That bastard took... took you away from me and stole our son… left me alive in this radiated hell.” The soft thunk of her fist hitting the glass echoed through the cold vault, “It’s so damn selfish, but I’d do it for me.”

 

* * *

 

~ ♥ ~  
[Nick Valentine]

 

Valentine was busy propping up the old guard station just outside the vault. Lit cigarette in-between the fingers of the one hand that still had synthetic flesh as he waited. He never fancied being dishonest with someone. Convinced himself that ‘maybe Mystery would need help’ to get himself to go. If he’d been honest with himself it had just been curiosity.

Stupid, selfish curiosity. Can’t let a mystery go unsolved. Have to pry into the dark corners of the world and shine a light on the puzzles they showed just because of his own damn curiosity. He’d not lie to Mystery about being down there. He was sure she knew anyhow though. It was almost assured that she’d heard them leaving- the group had not made the most graceful of exits. When Piper had tripped over an old toolbox he’d been sure that the entire commonwealth had heard them as they skittered like radroaches for the exit.

He looked up to the sky.

For the first time in days it wasn’t cloudy or raining and the stars sparkled above them like the diamonds some of original Nick’s old clients used to wear once upon an implanted memory. He’d never cared for diamonds but he liked stars. They were a reminder that not everything had been changed or destroyed.  Not everything.

The hum of the vaults elevator pulled his eyes back from the heavens and down to the fallout and the rust of the land.  She stood facing away from him. Back rigid as she stared out over the wastes. He could only guess what she was seeing if what he’d pieced together was any guess.  He still remembered waking up confused and in the trash of a ruined world and having to face the realization that he wasn’t human anymore. Or… had never been.  It sounded like she was in a similar predicament and hurting for friends. Well, he was never one to let a dame, even a dangerous one, remain distressed.

“Hey, lemme ask you something?” He called out to her after a few minutes of silence.

She turned and behind the sunglasses he could swear there were tear trails though the dust that had settled on her skin. Not surprising since he was sure she’d been crying while talking to what he could only guess to be a dead spouse.

“Is something wrong, Valentine?”

She sounded so weary and resigned, he almost regretted saying anything, but he pressed on anyhow, “Well… actually, that was my question for you. I haven’t put together much but I gather that with everything that happened… well…”

A small quirk at her lips and her hand came to pull the sunglasses off her face. With a sigh she rubbed an unusually dirty hand over her cheek. Wasn't like her to have dirty hands. One of the first things he'd noticed about her if he was honest.  He liked looking at people's hands. You could tell a lot about a person by their hands. Same way you could tell a lot about someone if you looked at their shoes. Of course, with everything scavenged and second hand, shoes weren't the best bet anymore.

“I think we both know that you know more than you are letting on, Nick,” Her voice was soft. The normal hard edge hadn't returned.

She turned away from him and stared out over the view of Sanctuary. Tiny pricks of light for the campfires and burning lamps. The purr from the few turrets that she'd cobbled together echoed over the evening landscape. Up came her hand and once more her ever present sunglasses were back on.

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

She gestured with a slight wave of her hand as she asked, “Walk with me?”

He crushed the glowing cherry of his cigarette and pushed off the guard post to fall in step with her. “Not really safe to walk out here at night. Lot of nasty critters roams these parts.”

Blue chuckled, “That has yet to stop us. …and being near-blind from darkness is not an issue for me.”  Her hands tucked themselves into the large pockets of the black trench coat she typically wore when they were at sanctuary or one of the other cities.  He never knew where she packed it while they traveled but as a soon as they neared a town she’d be wearing it. It and that big damn hat with the silver ribbon. It all looked familiar, but he wasn’t exactly sure where he’d seen it before. Probably time to do a diagnostic and search through the ol' memory banks if he was honest. He'd been putting it off for too long. 

Footsteps stopping, the hiss of a new match being lit was met with the flair of light as the tiny flame burst to life and she held it to the tip of a cigarette clenched in her teeth. The flash and sparkle of her eyes as they peeked over the top of her sunglasses drew his gaze as smoke rolled like storm clouds from her lips, “You’re smart, Mr Valentine. A good detective. Actually… you’re a good guy all around. Probably the only person I really trust right now. The others... not the same... not yet. Maybe Handcock...”

She gave a shrug, sighed, and returned to the trek down the stretch of dirt road towards some wrecked vehicles. Mystery hopped up and settled onto the seat of an old tank like a large black cat. With her relaxed posture, he didn’t fail to notice that her free hand always lingered near one of her guns. So far he knew of three that she carried, but he was almost positive she had more. He’d learned early that she favored a very particular pistol with a silencer. A small red heart had been painted on the butt of the pearl handled gun and he’d heard her refer to it as ‘Love Tap’ in a conversation once or twice.

“Do you remember Anchorage?” She asked while puffing from the faintly glowing cigarette.

“You mean the battle of Anchorage or just the place on the map?” Nick wasn’t sure where she was going with the conversation, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t interested.

“Both. But I'm mainly referring to the battle.“

“Well, I have memories of some newscasts about it but… I gotta admit, original Nick had some other issues on his mind at the time.”

A halfhearted smile flickered over her face, “I’m not surprised. Didn’t we all? Anyhow, there were several covert operation teams that assisted the liberation of Anchorage. The Corps were spread kind of thin by then. Everyone was. Almost a full generation of war had taken its toll on people. One of those teams was C-I-D.”

Nick took the seat opposing her and leaned against the rusted wall, eyes carefully watching the entrance to the tank out of habit as he shrugged, “Not sure I recall what that is.”

“Marine Corps Criminal Investigation Division. During the war they became more of a covert ops group that only _occasionally_ investigated crimes within the marine corps.”

“And… I’m not sure if I completely follow you here. You may have to spell it out for me,” Valentine said with a wry grin as he lit a cigarette of his own.

“One of the teams was led by an Agent Stone. However, the teams were unaware of the advances that the enemy had made. Crimson Dragoons using stealth fields. Most of the teams were decimated within the first hour of the mission. Scattered. Nil on communication.”

She fell silent and he started piecing together the information like a 200 year old puzzle. When he felt like he was getting the mental picture she was painting he asked, "Which team were you in?”

The smile was a little brighter this time as she acknowledge his guess, “You already know which team.”

“The one lead by Stone?”

When she’d taken off her sunglasses, he didn’t know. Somehow he’d missed it as now they were tucked away safely in her breast pocket and pale eyes turned to glimmer in his direction, “Yes. Agent Stone led the team whose main mission was to infiltrate the enemy lines and eventually disable the large artillery guns that were tearing apart the troops.”

“So you’re pre-war?”

“I suppose. Though… I would call it pre-nuking. I grew up during the war. Nothing ‘pre’ about it.”

Nick chuckled, “Always did think the phrase was a little odd.”

“Indeed.”

They lapsed into somewhat comfortable silence until the question that had been nagging at his memory banks finally filtered it’s way to his mouth, “Why tell me?”

She lit another cigarette before answering, “because you are the only other person I know besides Codsworth who remembers the ‘before’. And… because sometimes I hate the idea of leaving and no one really knowing who I was. A little vain of me to be honest.”

Nick frowned, she was cryptic at the best of times but even he couldn’t seem to keep up with her now… unless… He decided to hazard a guess, “You’re Agent Stone.”

The grin was almost feral. Pristine white teeth near glowing in the dim light, “See? I knew you were quick.” She stood and took one last drag from her cigarette, “We should head back now. However…” Nick watched as her pretty lips pulled once more into a tight line, “I am not ready to trust others with my history. ...or name.”

He chuckled and stood, “would never dream of telling someone else. Though… I do have a question.”

“I might answer.”

“The battle of Anchorage was mid 2076 - early 2077... How old was Shaun when the bombs fell?”

The smile that slid briefly over her face was a softer one. In that moment he saw the sliver of the woman she might have been before waking up to a broken home and a dead world.

“Ah. Sharp as a tack and top of the class. He was sixteen weeks four days. …I may tell you the story some other day, but for today that is enough.”

 

* * *

 

~[o]~  
[Piper]

 

Piper accepted the lit cigarette that was offered up to her. Sitting down on the roof she asked, “You ever think you might smoke too much, Blue?”

Silence.

“....Blue?” Piper leaned to look at the woman she was sitting next to.  Blue was wearing a 'new' pair of old mirrored shades but Piper could see in through the side where it was chipped and Blue’s eyes were wide open.  “Is there something a matter? Promise not to publish. You know, cross my heart and stuff.”

Blue took a drag from her cigarette and her head dropped down to stare at the roof, “Just… missing home. Missing family.”

“Wanna tell me about them?”

“Yes.”

Piper shifted but the silence lingered until she realized that Blue wasn’t going to actually tell her- all she had actually admitted to was wanting to talk but not a willingness to do so. She bumped Blue’s shoulder with her own , “Hey, listen, I know it’s not really my business but why are you so closed off and like... paranoid?”

The snort of soft laughter that came from Blue didn’t escape Piper’s notice and the woman smiled and looked absently over the horizon, “You’re a smart girl Piper. I’m sure if you chewed on the problem long enough you’d suss out something satisfying. …and I think I smoke just enough, thank you. It keeps me calm. Easy to stay… distant. Makes things easier to deal with.” A perfectly manicured hand flicked the ash build-up from the tip, “And it’s familiar to me. I cannot claim that of much, so I will take this small blessing and cling to it.”

Piper tilted her head and decided to change the subject, “How do you keep your nails so nice? Is that why you always wash your hands?”

Blue stuck the cigarette to her lips and held it there with her teeth while she splayed her hands to look over her nails, “Had’n thou’ abou’ it.” She took the cigarette from her lips and smoke drifted lazily from her nostrils and mouth as she spoke, “New polish implant. Polymer base like you see on Codsworth and other Mr. Handys. Got it done for our one year anniversary. Bitch to file down now though and I can’t change the color.”

“Implant? Are you… Are you like Nick? An institute cast-out?”

Trickles of fear began to course down Piper’s spine. Nat would never even realize what had happened. Evil Synth Piper could hurt her.

Blue shook her head, “No. Never met anyone from the Institute. Hadn’t heard of it till I met you to be honest,” she leaned back on the roof and stretched out to look at the stars as she spoke, “I know you were in the vault with the others. The vault I... came from. Grew up here...”

Piper crushed the last of her cigarette and leaned back as well. It wasn’t nearly as comfortable as Blue made it look. Thenagain, Blue tended to wear a large black jacket that looked achingly similar to the silver shroud posters and made THAT look comfortable. Piper’s eyes widened and she glanced over at Blue. What if Blue was actually an immortal superhero who’d been living in a vault for the last 200 years?  Or maybe a descendant? The Silver Shroud finally re-emerged to help the wasteland? She snorted a the idea and returned to stargazing. It would make a good story for the papers but she prefered the truth.

 

* * *

 

~/_\~   
[Hancock]

 

Hancock was riding the buzz of Mentats and enjoying a fully belly in the dying light. The fire warmed the tips of his boots nicely and a slightly drunk Preston was recounting his first encounter with ‘Blue Mystery’. The mysterious woman who’d appeared out of nowhere and saved the last of the Quincy  survivors.

“There I was, little more than ten fusion cells left and not a prayer for getting out of that building alive,” Preston waved his hand towards Mystery who sat silently nearby. “And then I hear this- this SOUND.” Preston slurrs a little as he leans forward, “And around the corner comes this lady in strange dark clothes and a giant _dog_.  I thought for sure that I was a goner if she was with them, but then the raiders start shooting at her and, oh man, it was like she was an angel of death. Never seen anything like it; the dog picked up a shotgun from the ground, brought it to her, and within seconds most of the raiders were down.”

Hancock couldn’t help but give a soft snort. He didn’t doubt it, he’d seen the woman in action. Hell, he’d seen her toss one of those tin-can soldiers like they’d been nothing.

Preston forged ahead, still waving his arms to emphasise his points, “So I yell to her for help, right? She comes in. Clears the building and Sturges,” he stopped to slap the well muscled mechanic on the back, “Sturges tells her ‘ _the plan_ ’. But the plan needs a fusion core, yeah? Well she doesn’t say a thing, just turns around and jumps down to the lower levels. No stairs- NUTHIN. I watched over the balcony and it took her all of ten seconds _tops_ to open that door and get what we needed.”

Hancock looked back to Mystery. The beer bottle in her hands was empty and her face was it’s usual blank slate behind the sunglasses.

“BUT THEN,” Preston accidently tips the last of his drink into the fire which hissed and fizzed as he waves emphatically, “She doesn't come back to us, just scales the wall and heads straight for the power armor. By the time I get out to the balcony she’s inside the thing and goes flying past me- jump off the building like it was nothing- and that machine gun is purrin’ a song of bullets. Well you’d never believe it but then there’s this- this rumble, right? And BANG!”

Preston stood with a flair, “Deathclaw. Right out of the ground. Well she turns that torrent of hot death towards it and then I hear -click- click- click from down below. _The damn thing ran out of bullets_!”

Piper leaned forward, “How’d you get out of that one, Blue?”

Mystery was silent as she gesture to Preston to continue. Hancock couldn’t help but admire the way the woman handled things. He was sure that most of the story was JUST story but she took it with grace. At Mystery's silent que to continue, Preston leaned forward as he spoke, “You’d never believe it, she used the machine gun like a _swatter_ and **smacked** the deathclaw. While it was stunned, she jumped out of the armor, grabbed a knife from her boot and -I kid you not- JUMPED on the thing. Broke the blade in it’s skull!”

Hancock shook his head with a grin, “No way. I can believe _almost_ everything but that last bit is too much of a stretch.”

A soft thud at his feet made him look down. The hilt of a broken combat knife lay next to his boot. He looked to Blue to see her lighting a cigarette. Carefully, he picked it up and grunted. Honestly, words escaped him for this. “Huh,” he grunted again as he stared at the knife hilt. Blue’s eyes glittered at him from across the fire, her shades pulled from her face for once.

Her voice was mixed with the hint of a smile as she spoke, “Indeed.”

 

* * *

 

~(***)~  
[Codsworth]

 

Codsworth found her sitting near the edge of the settlement. Silver flashed in her hands and he noticed that she held a chain between her hands. Sir’s ring was threaded over the chain and dangled listlessly.

“Mum? May I have a word?”

Her head jerked up. “Codsworth? Is something wrong, honey?”

For once there was a small glimmer of the mum he used to know and he forged ahead with as much bravado as his servos could simulate, “Mum, it has come to my attention that you’ve been acting a little strange. Now, I’m aware by Sir’s stories how you were in the war--”

“Stop,” She looked away from him and her now greying hair fell across her face. “Codsworth, I’m- I’m terribly sorry if I’ve distressed you but I am not going to change….”

“But, mum, what _happened_?”

“He died, Codsworth. When they killed Nate… they killed the last of the Rosie you knew. I’m sorry honey. I’ll never stop trying to help people but I don’t think you’ll ever see the person that I was before the bombs dropped. All of that was Nate… and Bish-… and he’s gone.”

“I… I understand, mum. Are we… are we still family?”

She smiled and slipped the chain back over her head. It slipped out of sight beneath her shirt as she spoke, “Of course, Codsworth. You have been, and will always be family.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah... so yes. This is an update. Yes.  
> I've got writer's block so bad but I got this finished up and hopefully it's not too crappy. Updates will probably be slower since I'm working on original works that I hope to have done soon.(Or at least fully roughdrafted)  
> Thanks for reading!


	20. Something Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of Nick's perspective and some Preston! (Yay.)

* * *

 

~ ♥ ~  
[Nick Valentine]

 

Nick found her sitting near the river. A solemn form hunched on the rocks as she fiddled with something in her hands. It never seemed to matter what was going on but her hands were always busy. Whether is was flicking a cigarette, crafting something, or rubbing idly over the fabric of her cloth-- her hands never seemed to stop or still. 

Making his way carefully over the wet rocks to join her, Nick called a soft greeting, "Hey."

Military shades turned his way briefly in the twilight. “Hello, Mr Valentine.”

Chuckling, he batted away the oddly formal greeting. "Just Nick or Val is fine. I brought you something. Here." Settling onto one of the larger rocks, he offered her the wrapped bundle that he’d spent the last few hours working on.

She finally peeled her gaze fully up from the project in her lap. “Hm?”

“You haven’t eaten today. Figured you could use something,” He explained while holding back the shrug that twitched through his wires.

Carefully, she put her tools aside and rinsed one of her hands in the water before taking the bundle from him and unwrapping it slowly.

“You’re joking,” she said softly as she stared down at the prize. “A burger? How?”

Nick grinned and gave a small shrug. He wouldn’t admit that he’d remembered her comments down in the vault and everyone had taken notice of her difficulty eating. “Brahmin got caught in one of the tesla coil traps this morning while you were out teaching the settlers how to shoot straight. New crops are comin’ in nice too. First harvest of Sanctuary right? I don’t think it’s anything like memory, but I hope it meets with your approval,” he shifted as he spoke. Even with his shoddy wiring, he could feel the warmth the rock he was sitting on radiated after the day’s sun. It seemed to teeter between comfy and almost burning. 

While she ate, he picked up and started looking over what she’d been working on. It looked like a piece of bone that had been whittled. After turning it over a few times he realized what it was supposed to be, “A silencer? How’d you learn to make something like this?”

She looked up at him and shrugged. About as standard an answer as ever but after she swallowed the last of her food and said, “My father was from the Wampanoeg tribe. A lot of tribes valued not wasting items. My father took it to a whole new level with the war. 57th Division engineer. Did seven tours and went M-I-A a year before Anchorage. When I was young…”

She fell quiet and took a moment to wash her hand in the river again before continuing, “When I was young, he started teaching me how to patch radios and make my own bullets. As I got older, he taught more and more until I could probably build a Protecteron from a bubblegum pack and some pliers. Mum used to call him ‘Chief Macgyver.’ Not sure if you saw that show….”

Although she appeared relaxed, he could hear the slight waver in her voice as she spoke. Likely that same feeling he got whenever he thought of anyonr from his own past. It was a grim and dark place to wander in one's mind and it was likely more fresh for her than it had any right to be. She continued on, oblivious to his own mental wanderings, “Anyhow… It's what kept me alive during the war. And now… it will hopefully keep me alive again. This silencer won't last very long, but it should do until I can forge a metal one. I can use a fusion core to create a welded case for the exterior of the bone once I finish. Haven’t found the right metal yet though.”

Surprise nipped like an electric spark as he looked up from the carved bone silencer. “Your gun had a silencer, did something happen to it?”

Her eyes slid to stare at the river for a moment before she pulled her main gun, Love Tap, out of it’s holster on her thigh and passed it over to him. Immediately he could see why she was making a new one. The gun was a mangled mess. Honestly, he didn’t even think it was salvageable.

“Geezus. What happened here?” He muttered as his eyes narrowed and he stared down at the gun. A day after arriving at the settlement they’d fought off a super mutant attack and one of the brutes had fallen on her after she’d hamstrung it. She'd been too slow to dodge after pushing aside a settler who’d frozen. It had been a day since then, but he’d taken to busy work and hadn’t thought to check on Mystery since she ‘seemed’ fine. Experience should have told him that she kept things like injuries hidden from others. Silent curses ran through his processors. His eyes trailed to the hand that had been in her lap most of the time and a frown began to pull at his face. “Your hand?”

She didn’t meet his eyes as she answered, “Will heal.”

“We should head back to diamond city. Get it looked at.”

“I have attended to it Nick. It’s _fine_.”

“Prove it.”

Silence.

“That’s what I thought,” He muttered as he moved over to stand over her, “Show me.”

Instead of simply showing her hand, she slowly began unbuttoning her coat and inching it off her shoulder. As soon as it was edged off he could see why she’d protested. To travel to diamond city would still take a day or two if they headed straight there. If she was injured they’d have to avoid a lot of fighting and the travel would take longer.  As soon as the deep purple bruises could be seen over her collarbone he knew she wasn’t really fit for travel even with the assisted healing that a stimpack would offer.

He knelt down and looked over it with a frown, “Broken?”

“Yes. In three places that I could feel. I’ve treated it and Curie has assisted me in setting the bones in my hand. Although I can shoot with my other arm, walking is painful and several days of careful travel is… unappealing.”

“Huh,” he grunted in reply. “Strange no one noticed when you were teaching them how to shoot earlier.”

She smiled up at him in a hazy way. “I will admit to cheating.”

He gave a heavy simulated sigh when he realized what she meant. Dilated pupils would have been a dead giveaway if she didn’t always wear those insufferable glasses. Explained why she was so chatty though, normally she was closed airtight with seals that even two hundred years hadn’t cracked. Nick had suspected since hearing her in the vault but in this shitty world, it's not like he could begrudge someone finding a way to cope. Hell, he'd had his own moments early in waking to this new world and though it didn't sit right in his mechanical gut, he sometimes wished that he'd been able to dull things with drugs as well. Still, old predjudices reared their ugly maws as he shook his head and asked, "Why do you poison yourself with that stuff?”

Looking away she gently tugged her jacket back up, “People liked to ignore that it was common for soldiers to be _encouraged_ to be 110%. Most of the drugs in the wasteland were made to give soldiers an edge back then. I kicked the habit when I was pregnant with Shaun. … hardest damn part of the entire Anchorage mission I think. But… old habits die hard. If there is an injury, I need to push past it. The drugs keep me going. Simple.”

“...You should be in bed, you know. Resting.”

The hazy smile wavered and she looked back over the water. Her free hand dipping in to rinse again before she spoke, “I… can’t. I can’t stand without getting dizzy. I’ve already fallen once.”

Now he noticed the staining that ran the length of her side. Dampness made the fabric still cling to her oddly and it would be a wonder if she didn’t get sick after sitting in wet clothes for hours on end. Damn, what sort of detective was he that he hadn’t noticed it before? Exasperation nipped at his servos as he slipped an arm under her legs. He hefted her without a issue. Surprised that she weighed less than he thought she would, he cursed under his breath.

“Figured you’d just spend the night right here? ...You’ve been giving your provisions to the new settlers, huh?”

She leaned her head against his shoulder as her uninjured hand clutched her carving. It hadn’t really been a question and she didn’t answer beyond a halfhearted mumble.

She didn’t need to.

Most of her strange group had seen her wandering around Sanctuary. Nick had actually peeked in at one point and witnessed her putting together small gift packages for the settlers. Guns. Armor. Food. Caps. While people were out working, she’d leave the little box of items on their beds or next to their things. Providing for people even though she didn’t have to. He knew she’d paid for shipments of blankets among other things from one of the caravan’s Daisy knew. Where she got it all, only guesses could be made but she seemed to have a true talent for scavenging and turning a pile of scrap into a priceless turret.

Truly a woman unlike any other in the commonwealth.

Carrying her, he slowly made his way back into town.

 

* * *

 

~[X]~  
[Preston Garvey]

 

Sturges nudged Preston’s side. “Think there’s any good scrap up in that there vault?”

Preston sat back from the tato plant he’d been weeding around as he answere, “No. Listen, Sturges, she asked us not to go in there. We’ve been lucky with how much she’s been helpin’ us and I’m going to respect the few rules she put down.”

“Aw, common. It’s a vault! It’s gotta have a lot of stuff I could work with.”

“As if she hasn’t sent entire caravans of junk for you to play with? I’m serious, Sturges. Stay out of there.”

The muscled man heaved a put-upon a sigh. “Well you’re no help. Hey, Maccready, you’ve been up there. Think she’d let me scavenge some stuff?”

The mercenary’s hat was only just visible behind the mutfruit plant he’d been helping trim. A whole bunch of the plants had been transferred over near full grown from some far-off farm. Every one of them paid for and healthy as a wasteland plant could get. The lanky man leaned over and fixed the mechanic with an icy stare, “Sturges, you don’t want to go up there. It’s not a _normal_ vault. As if vaults could be called normal ...kinda sorry **_I_** went actually…”

“Right, but what’s actually up there? What makes it ‘not normal’?”

Maccready took off his hat and leaned against the fence. “You could ask her. ...But I wouldn’t.” He shook his head for emphasis and picked up his canteen to take a long pull. Wiping at his lips with the sleeve of his jacket he said, “It’s a tomb, Sturg. You _don’t_ want to go up there.”

Sturges sat back on his heels with a frown. The irrigation line he was working on was now forgotten in the midst of their conversation. “But isn’t that where she’s from?”  

“Yes.” A soft husky voice spoke from the nearby shade of the building. Out stepped their mysterious benefactor and Preston ducked his head to paw out another weed. He’d never been told her name but everyone seemed to alternate between calling her Mystery and Blue. Blue Mystery. Or Mum. Or even Boss. He'd thought the robot called her Miss Stone once but he'd been far away and the words had never repeated. He didn't dare ask. No reason to pry. Hell, he and the others had simply been calling her Hero until the scrawny Merc lead the robots and a damn supermutant back into the little town.   

She continued with a small wave of her hand, “I will only allow people up there if there is an emergency. The door can be sealed from the inside, and there are some beds. I have begun storing emergency rations, enough for a couple months.”

Sturges frowned up at her and used a dirty rag to wipe the grease from his hands, “But what about things we could use now?”

Preston kept his mouth shut and ripped up another weed. Sturges would listen to him if it came to ghouls or raiders but when it came to being denied scrap-- the man became as stubborn as a lame brahmin.  Anyone could tell that this line of questions couldn’t end well and honestly he wished that just for once Sturges would stop.

Mystery’s steps were soft and quiet over the dead grass. “I have already given everything from the vault save the emergency supplies, Sturges.”

The mechanic’s bushy eyebrows went up, “Really? But… aren’t vaults supposed to be big?”

Preston chanced a glance up and instantly wished that he hadn’t. She stood with her uninjured hand gently caressing one of the mutfruit buds that had begun to form and from his angle he could see her eyes crinkle in sorrow. She seemed to be speaking more to herself than to them as she whispered, “...they were supposed to be decontamination pods. ...I couldn’t see. I would have known. ...but what could I have done? Refuse to enter? There was no world to leave to…”

It wasn't uncommon for her to say things a little randomly since getting injured. Preston was admittedly a bit of a babbler himself when it came to some of the medications. Her hand dropped to her side and her mouth pinched in anger as she focused a furious gaze at nowhere in particular. The tone that rolled out next was no longer wistful but full of warning, “I have placed a turret over the vault that will fire at anyone not given clearance. The surrounding area is mined. Tell the settlers not to hunt or venture in that area. Do not go up there on your own. If you feel the need to scavenge, there is a cave under the Red Rocket that may have some interesting finds. Take Duke and Curie with you. There are Molerats.”

She turned abruptly and walked away. Small puffs of dust followed each step until she turned into the little garage of the Common House.

Maccready pulled back on his hat and sighed, “F-...dang.”

Preston couldn’t agree more.

* * *

~ ♥ ~  
[Nick Valentine]

 

Nick watched Mystery as she picked over a mess of items that Trashcan Carla had to offer. She carefully set aside fans, microscopes, alarm clocks, and a myriad of other items. He couldn’t help but crack a joke, “Heh, got a thing for antiques there do yah?”

Her hands paused their roam through the junk bins. “...maybe,” she said softly.

She’d been sporadically torn between quiet and babbling sentences with little coherence over the last week as her broken bones healed. Most of her time was spent up near or even in the vault. Sometimes she'd come out-- appearing only long enough to pick up a bag or two of items from a small cellar that settlers knew not to venture into. Once she had her new selection, she and Carla haggled and then she once more was trotting away with her materials held by the arm not forced into a sling by the settlement's medic robot.   

He found her later in the security trailer next to the vault. Nick had ventured up once or twice to check on her and found that she seemed to like to escape to that trailer in particular while working. All the settlers had been warned that to approach the vault would mean certain death as a nasty looking turret sat guarding the vault. It was programed with a different algorithm and would shoot any not logged into the system. Thankfully, Valentine was one of the few allowed. He’d nearly wondered aloud at it but her earlier words floated back through his processors of how he was one of the few she trusted.

The junk she’d purchased was splayed around the floor where she sat cross legged in an old teeshirt with her customary extension sewn onto the left sleeve and pair of shorts while she was repairing an old terminal and bits of her power armor suit. A pretty lace band wove around one of her legs and he noticed there was an interesting lack of scarring on it compared to the other.

The only thing that hadn’t been disassembled for parts was an old fan and a radio that she’d powered with a make-shift generator using a spare fusion core, a tato, and some wires. The fan whirred softly as she worked and the radio piped classical music into the quiet afternoon. Nick couldn’t help but stare at her as he leaned on the doorway and watched.  A cigarette was held loosely in her lips as her uninjured hand roved over the wires. For once her hair was not pulled into the clean victory rolls and bun she usually wore while traveling. Instead, it was in a loose braid that trailed over her shoulder where the bruising from the break could still be seen. The shades she usually wore were also gone, replaced by a pair of welding goggles that lay around her neck until she needed them. She’d taken off the sling that Curie had bullied her into wearing and it was flung off to the side as she organized a pile of screws.

Smirking, he asked, “Is there any machine you can’t charm?”  

Her hands stilled and her mismatched eyes trailed up to look at him. She was silent. The tug of sadness flickered over her face before she forced a smile, “It seems that might be the case.”

Stepping carefully over the mess of wires, he moved a pistol from the ground and took a seat on the trailer floor next to her. “Well, the majority of the circuits look to be in good shape,” he said looking over the mess of technology, “If anyone could get it running it’d be you. I’d be happy to help if you want though.”

He could still see as she swallowed hard before bowing her head and her voice rasped when she spoke, “Yes… of course. This terminal isn’t in… I can fix it.” She pulled the cigarette from her lips and set it on a nearby ashtray. “I like the company though… if you wanted to stay.”

There was an ache of loneliness to her words and for a split second he thought maybe she’d meant something else. But that couldn’t be right, who the hell would care for a synth like that? He shoved aside the thought and leaned against the wall, “Sure, doll. I don’t have anywhere to be.”

She worked in silence and he was content to watch. Inside, her words tickled and itched inside his metal skull like the memories of a bugbite. This dame was like the most brilliant of sunsets. Often he got the feeling that if he looked away he’d miss it all and she’d be gone. Thenagain, as a synth maybe that would be the case? He’d be operating and tracking down missing stuffed animals or wandering husbands long after she was gone. Maybe she was really just a sunset that he’d gotten to witness. The one he stopped to watch out of the thousands he missed.

He fought back though thoughts of how much he hated being a synth of someone. Old Nick had Jenny back in the ‘ol days, but who the hell would want the broken robot copy? Could he even love someone? He remembered love. He felt fond of people, so maybe it was possible. But was it selfish to try? 

 

~~

 

“Nick?... uhm, Mr. Valentine?”

A hand touched his arm and Nick startled and turned, “Mystery? What’s up?” He’d been engrossed in the tattered book he’d found in the Common House and must have missed her calling him. It had been a day since their evening of working together and he'd been desperate to put aside the questions that bubbled up into his mind when he was around her. 

Her hand dropped away from his arm and she fidgeted. The action seemed so out of place from her normal behavior that it sent alarm bells ringing in his head as he stood. Tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, she forced a strained smile as she spoke, “I know this may seem strange and I could do it myself but… Well, to be honest I can’t really see well enough to actually do it myself and with my hand… well, I was hoping that because…” She trailed off and he was almost entertained to see her begin chewing on her lower lip. It seemed like such a normal action but still so out of place. Her hand came up to bush over her hair again as she took a deep breath and asked, “You do self repairs often enough to know the basics, right?”

His printed eyebrows rose up to his hat. “Yeees…” he answered slowly, unsure to what she was getting at.

Mystery's gaze dropped to the ground and her uninjured arm crossed over her chest to hug at her waist, “I have something very private I’d like to ask for your help with.”

“Well, I’m no mechanic but I’ll give it a shot. What do you need help with?” He felt the familiar hum of curiosity in the back of his mind as she turned and tilted her head towards the hill, “Can we go to my trailer? I’d rather be somewhere where people can’t… see.”

Nodding, he shoved his hands into his pockets and ambled behind her. A heavy limp seemed to be hindering her steps as they crossed the bridge, and after some debate he asked, “You alright? You know, I’m not a doctor…”

Her steps stuttered and she glanced back at him before resuming the walk, “It… I… A doctor couldn’t help this. I just need help with someone who knows… machines.”

They got into the small trailer that she’d taken as her residence and Nick looked around. A smattering of projects were still on the floor of the trailer though it looked like a lot of it had been cleaned since he’d last been there. She picked her way over the piles with practiced ease and flopped onto the mattress that was in the corner. Her hands danced over the latches on her boot and he watched with a sense of fascination as it unclasped and opened up similar to the way a suit of power armor might. She slipped the boot off and then started on the other one. Gently, he picked up the boot, “never seen a boot like this before. Where’d you get them?”

She glanced up at him, “My cousin made them. He got the idea from power armor and my…” she mumbled something and cleared her throat before continuing, “He wanted something that could be used for emergencies if elevators or stairs weren’t an option in a tall building. These are… the prototype. Part of why I could jump off that building. ...He didn’t live long enough to make more.”

The other boot slipped off her leg and she set it aside before standing stiffly and she began working at the belt at her waist. Nick took a step back, “Uh… youknow doll, I’m flattered but I thought you said you needed help from a mechanic? not…”

She looked up at him with her pants around her knees, “What?”

Nick felt like he should be blushing as he looked away and fumbled for a way to politely let her down when she toppled over and gave a hiss of pain and her hands came up to hold her head where it had hit the corner of a box, “Fuck. The servos are too damaged to move it. Nick, this is embarrassing but I need help. Something malfunctioned in my leg and it’s not working.” He looked to where she lay-- pants tangled around her ankles and arms around her face which had flushed a dark color.

“What?”

There was a butterfly of hope that entered his chest. He'd scrapped the idea that she was a gen3 with memories like himself. Maybe no longer a prototype but still something of a match. Yet he'd seen the cryo-pods himself. Evidence that pointed in another direction... He stuttered over chasing the rabbit of thought as she seemed to curl in on herself and gave a tense answer, “My leg. I tried to repair it in Goodneighbor. I removed the bullet and replaced some of the mangled bits but on the walk back… The boots are the only thing that kept me upright I think. This morning when I woke up the leg simply stopped working and even though I’m good with fixing stuff I don’t know why it’s not…”

She faded off with a mumble as he knelt down next to her. It felt strange and somewhere between intimate and awkward when he gently tugged off the pants that clung to her muscular legs. He was thankful he didn't have lungs to give away how nervous he felt when his thumb brushed over some of the scarring on her legs. His gaze dropped away when he noticed the dark grey underwear and the hint of a tattoo peeking out from beneath the cloth. Focusing his attention on the leg in question, he realized it was the same remarkably unscarred leg he'd noticed previously. A floral lace band covered her thigh and the skin seemed to be a slight shade darker than the other leg and the scarring simply stopped below the lace band. He stared at it, but admittedly it still seemed to be a normal leg. “I, uh, I can get a doctor…”

He refrained from saying that if this was the strongest pick-up line she had- he wasn’t impressed. Well… he might have been but really he doubted she was into him like that. Of course, it wouldn't be the first time. He blinked away the regret that those memories brought. Really, if she wanted that kind of action she’d be better off with a Mr. Handy. ‘ _A housewife’s dream come true._ ’ True none of the specialized attachments survived the passage of time but she was resourceful and he was sure Codsworth had the setting. It wasn't a territory he wanted to re-examine just yet. 

With a soft huff, she curled until her hand could reach down and her fingers fumbled over the lace section. With a hiss the upper section opened and she pulled the leg off.

“I don’t need a doctor. I need someone who won't judge me,” she said through gritted teeth.

Gently, Nick took the leg from her. It was lighter than he expected it to be. Likely made from the same material as he was. Once she'd sat up, she reached over and touched a section behind the 'knee'. The skin slid down the appendage like a loose rubbery sock and he was left staring at a leg that looked similar to his own. He couldn't help but feel a little flabbergasted as he stared at it, “So… you’re…”

Mystery gave a small shake of her head. “Sorry, Nick. I’m not a synth. It’s just an experimental prosthetic leg for veteran soldiers. I was part of a program for getting wounded soldiers back on their feet and into battle...or… well... sort of. Listen, can you help fix it or…?”

He looked at her face. Her glasses still on the floor- her face looked younger. Softer. There was pain in her expression and he wondered how often the leg bothered her. She looked away, “A lot more than I let on. I’m still… getting used to not having it. It hasn’t been that long… since I lost...”

He blinked. Had he actually asked that question out loud? Damn, definitely time to run another defrag and tidy the internal files. Her hand came up to tuck a stray hair behind her ear again. A nervous gesture if he had to make a guess. Now her comment so many moons ago of 'getting used to' her leg made more sense.  She wouldn't meet his eyes as she spoke, “If you must know, it hurts a lot. I can forget about it sometimes. The prosthetic lets me do things like wiggle my toes and walk normally. It helps… but then there are days where my foot itches,” She glanced up at him, “but I can’t feel it if I scratch and it reminds me. Other times… it all aches. Like pins and needles for something that isn’t there,” She was quiet for a minute before speaking again, “I heard Piper asking why I’m so clean. ...I know she didn’t mean anything by it but it…”

Nick placed a hand on her thigh, “Hey, it’s alright, doll. Let’s get this patched up. I didn’t mean to seem insensitive and ask that. It kinda just slipped out.”

Nodding, she sat up and gestured at some of the inner workings, “Here is where the bullet hit. I can’t see well enough to actually tell if there is damage. Doctor Sun may have fixed my eyes a little but everything is still blurry most of the time. I know it seems silly but I build most things by feel and sound. These bits are too delicate and small... Add in my injured hand...”

Nick picked up a pair of pliers that sat on the ground nearby, “I think I see your problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still have writers block but I was able to shift some scenes around to produce another chapter. Woohoo. It's not super edited so ...there might be some weirdness.


	21. BLAM BLAM ALAKAZAM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really funny because I love Danse. He's really... interesting to write. 
> 
> Also... I'm sorry for the chapter title. Except not really.

* * *

 

 ~ʭ@ʭ~  
[Paladin Danse]

 

Danse was standing his usual vigil when he heard it.

Power armor.

No communication on the radios, but it could be a friendly. It also might not be.

It had been ages since the Brotherhood drove away the Enclave but the scattered remains still occasionally popped up and there were even some raiders who somehow learned how to use and maintain their own suit. There was no telling who it was and it was too much to hope that it was friendly.

At least the turret still worked. He’d checked over the programming algorithms-- very carefully with the warning in the message in mind-- but it was near perfection. The past couple weeks had been far easier even though they were down to just three in the squad. Honestly, he’d only seen pre-war tech with the level of sophistication that graced the codes of the junk cobbled machine. The stranger thing was that it didn't seem to be anything like the robco standard that bogged down nearly every piece of tech in the wasteland. 

The clomping steps stopped, and the turret honed in on whoever it was for a scant moment before returning to scanning the surroundings. Friendly? He wasn’t exactly low on Power Cells but he still really hoped it was friendly even if it was a foolish hope.

Rifle at the ready, he waited until the visitor came around the corner.

The synth.

The pale synth in the old trench coat came cautiously around the corner, and behind it followed someone in power armour and a few others-- Piper, the ghoul, a rather large dog, and a gangly youth whose fashion aesthetic seemed to be mostly bullets and scarves.

Danse stared at the Power armoured figure and silence stretched as they seemed content to stare back.

“What is your business here?” He stepped forward and asked with as much authority as he could muster. He’d seen the others in fights before and honestly if they attacked- he might have an edge but maybe not enough of one. Not alone anyhow.

The Power armour opened and the user slipped out.

R.

Or Mystery. Or Blue. Whatever she was called.

She looked tiny once she stepped out of the hulking armour. Connecting her Pipboy to an open panel, her quick fingers tapped in a code that locked the armour down. She slid the small panel closed and no one would ever know why the suit wouldn’t start up if they didn’t know what had been done. Interesting. He actually wasn’t sure he’d  seen a control panel on an armour suit before. It was a handy mechanism. Maybe if the brotherhood had some pipboys they could do something similar...

She walked stiffly to stand before him while adjusting a sling over her arm.

“Hello, Paladin.”

The greeting was simple. Terse, but it still held a strange sort of warmth.

“Hello.” Shit. He didn’t really know what to say besides that.

Shifting in his armour, he stared down at her while questions circled in his mind like carrion birds. What had happened to her arm? Where was her power armour from? How had she trained to use such an advanced design? She'd said in the letter that it would be a few days or maybe a week so why show up now after two.  He opened his mouth to speak but when nothing came out he closed it again. If he was honest, he hadn’t _expected_ her to return.

Her eyebrows rose and she plucked a pair of glasses out of her shirt pocket, slipping them on as she spoke, “Did you still need assistance?”

 

 

~~~

 

 

“No.”

Danse knew that if he didn’t have the suit to hide behind he might have recoiled from her simple word. The last several hours had seemed fine. Almost friendly. They’d accomplished their mission without having to radio for the back-up of her disgusting team and conversation had seemed amicable. Yet now, the word bit like a rabid yao guai. She didn’t raise her voice or inflect more than was necessary but it still carried a cutting sting all the same. He shifted his grip on his rifle, “May I ask why?”

A tight pinch accented her lips as she adjusted the power helmet held by armoured hands, “I do not agree with your ideals. Your disdain for my squad of ‘wasteland rejects’ -as you so elegantly put it earlier-  has been increasingly obvious.” Her armoured free hand waved dismissively as they began the trek back to the station where her crew was resting. “I have no desire to join a cult that encourages that sort of anthropocentric bigotry.”

His back stiffened in anger and the hydraulics of his suit hissed and tensed like loaded guns, “A cult?!”

She pulled her helmet back on. The chuckle of her laughter going thin as it switched to being piped through the suit's linked speaker system. “Ah, my apologies. Has my name calling struck a nerve? Perhaps you should keep that in mind next time you wish to speak, _Soldier_.”

The slip of ' _soldier_ ' came like a slap and not for the first time, he was glad he hadn’t taken off his helmet. His jaw worked like he’d taken too big a mouthful of brahmin jerky as he chewed over what she’d said. After a while the bitter taste of acknowledging that she was partially correct began to sit like an acid on his tongue and he sighed. He had been overly liberal with his grievances. Vocalizing his opinion with every chance he’d gotten though it was painfully obvious that she disagreed given the crew she traveled with.

“I apologize for offending. I will remain more cordial in the future, _ma’am_.”

She was silent but the armored head gave a slight dip in her acknowledgment. It was a few minutes of quiet walking before he noticed that she was moving slower than usual and seemed to be having difficulty navigating. He mentally batted away the sour conversation as he felt the cold itch of worry. “Ma’am? Are you alright?”

She stopped and he could swear that somehow the power armoured shoulders sagged as if they too felt the weight of her weariness. “Apologies. ...I may need to stop and rest. I’m not fully recovered. ... _et tu n'es pas vraiment le seul à avoir à t'excuser..._ ”

A few solid steps carried him around to stand in front of her, “Are you sure you cannot make it a few minutes? We are almost to the station.”

The power armour didn’t move this time when she spoke, it was almost a testament to how tired she actually was, “Maybe.”

A ‘no’ that she was too stubborn to voice. Her suits servos were doing little more than holding her up and his suit was giving him almost alarming readings on her current state. “Soldier, my suit is reading a malfunction in the circuitry of your armour’s right leg. Have you been injured?”

He jumped with alarm when she barked something that almost sounded like a bitter laugh, “Ah. _Dulce bellum inexpertis_. ...you are reading the output incorrectly, Paladin.”

The snort that escaped him was mixed with outrage and humor as he tried to parse the latin she’d spewed so easily. After a few minutes he gave up and growled, “I’ll have you know that one does not earn a suit of power armour in the brotherhood without undergoing the proper training.”

She shifted in her armour to turn towards him, “Really? Then…” Her hands moved as if they were typing in the air and very suddenly he realized that his armour was no longer moving. The vision aid from his helmet had gone dark and there was a deafening silence to the world.

“Alright, Paladin, please show me how you would re-activate your suit after being disabled by a superior commander or enemy?” Her voice sounded far away, tiny, and muffled. 

Without the filtration system on, his tongue felt dry and fear tickled along his spine with sweat. What game was this madwoman playing at to deactivate him when they were out in the open where enemies could attack? Actually, what game was she playing to have those codes like that in the first place? The more he thought about it the more irate he became until her voice piped through the speaker next to his ear as if she was there to whisper it herself, “If this was more than a drill, you’d be dead. You’re taking too long, soldier.”

Anger boiled in his stomach to mix with the fear and his fingers dug for the emergency ejection switch in the arm of his suit.

“Ejecting is a waste of time,” her voice seemed weary, “fine. I’ll reactivate it.”

Dials warmed to life with the kick and pull of the air that was suddenly being filtered in from the outside again. The small blessing of no longer cooking inside his suit made him almost gasp with relief.

“ _Nanos gigantum humeris insidentes_. You are a fool, Paladin Danse. Don’t brag if you can’t back up your words. Now, move out,” Command echoed in her words and he felt himself snap to attention and take a step forward before he even realized that he was angry at this civilian and didn’t really want to go anywhere with her.

However, instead of snapping, he took a slow, measured breath and asked, “How did you do that?”

“Hm?”

She was playing at being ignorant and he had to bite back the rising bile of anger that seemed to only end with him in trouble when it came to her. “How did you deactivate my armour?”

An armoured hand waved in that familiar dismissive gesture, “The brotherhood seems to know a great deal but they don’t know everything.”

“Yes,” He ground out, “but how is it that * _you*_ know.”

Her slow but steady steps seemed to falter for a moment before she answered, “Classified.”

“Are you Enclave?”

The snort that she let off was almost deafening, “No. Release that idea. Let it spread it’s wings and fly away because it is stupid and I have already answered.”

“And you are not Brotherhood from another sect?”

Her annoyed sigh was audible this time, “No.”

“...Institute?”

“No. Danse, I will shoot you if you continue to ask. Currently, we are allies. Let us remain that way.”

He fell to silence with the steady barrage-like clomp of their armour until another question came to mind. “How do you know latin?”

This time he was sure she actually made the armour shrug, “The same way I know Mandarin, Gan, Wôpanâak and French. I took the time to learn it. ...pity I didn’t take time to learn some of the others.”

Now his curiosity was captured. “Is there a school that teaches this where you’re from?”

“...not anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations--  
> (French) _et tu n'es pas vraiment le seul à avoir à t'excuser_ \- **and you're not the only one who needs to apologise.**  
>  (She knew she was being snappish and tired. Never really an excuse to be rude so she admits that in this small way.) 
> 
> (Latin)  
>  _Dulce bellum inexpertis_ \- **War is sweet to the inexperienced.** (He is so smart but so naive sometimes!)  
>  _Nanos gigantum humeris insidentes._ \- **Dwarfs standing on the shoulders of giants.**


	22. Old Spies Tellin’ Half-Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May I present... Deacon!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been god awful sick and playing far too much DA:I and Fallout 4 while stuck in bed. Reader's gain, I suppose. One of the upcoming chapters is a doozy though. I'm excited. It's cool. That could be the cough syrup talking but right now I think it's awesome. But might need tissues. Not this chapter though. I think this chapter is emotionally safe.  
> Good news yeah?

* * *

 

 ~●-●~  
[Deacon]

Deacon will never forget the first time he saw the lady of name redacted.

The roar and rumble from the earth had woken him at his lookout point. Legs flailing and arms wheeling as his chair tipped dangerously. It had been a normal afternoon nap for the most part. For the last few years, he’d tried to spend a day or two there every week or so in hopes that his hunch would pay off but so far it had just been a great spot to rest for a rare nap. He trusted it would pay of.

It had to.

Finally, it did.

Ducking out of sight, he’d watched as the lone shivering figure emerged to where a large dog had been lingering the last day or so. A tense few minutes were spent behind his scope before he watched the duo make a truce and then they’d made their way back to the abandoned town of sanctuary where a crazy lone robot was said to live. When it didn't look like she was coming back, he activated his precious spare stealthboy and slammed home the button that would send the giant gear shape downwards. He'd explored the front section of the vault before. It was locked tight-- no way to open from the outside. Yet here it was, now open to almost anyone. He knew to never expect but he honestly didn't expect what he found. Nothing. No other people besides the skeletons and semi-frozen peop-cicles. There were a few scattered and dead radroaches and a thrilling tale of rebellion on the terminals but no clues as to who the woman was. In fact, the only empty pod had it's information wiped. Name redacted blinked on the screen along with an unknown status. But who were these people? What were they? He wasn't able to find satisfactory answers and eventually slunk out with more questions than he'd come in with.

All that aside, it was when he met her that she really made an impression. He’d been tailing her for a while. Changing disguises, playing the roles, scouting the scene- the usual. He even broke off to check on a tourist once or twice. Then, he took a chance and begged water from her to see what she would do. Without a word, she’d given him that appeared to be her only bottle of purified water and a handful of caps before disappearing down an alley. That was certainly NOT what he’d been expecting. A vague threat. A bottle of dirty river water maybe. Surely a kick in the ribs if she was like anyone else. Hell, he even gave chance that she might do it on ‘credit’ to be paid in skin at a later date.

But he’d never expected kindness with no return requested.

 _Probably why one should learn never to expect_ , he reminded himself.

Now, he stood propping up a wall at Bunker hill near the gate, and if he had to say so-- he blended in pretty nicely. Dressed in roughly the same gear as everyone else and a hat pulled low to block the sun from his skin. Even with a new face, his nose would burn and peel like fried bananas if he didn’t watch the sun and radiation. He chatted amicably with the other caravan hands as his eyes watched her talk with the local vendors. From the snippets of conversation he could hear, it sounded like she was trying to set up caravan routes to some minutemen settlements. Interesting but not information he needed right then.

Maybe later.

He’d always think of something later.

“What a day huh?” He snarked jokingly to a worker that was just coming off the trail. The worker rubbed his forehead and muttered something about super mutants and needing a stiff drink. Sounded like a crazy tour indeed. Deacon let his eyes roam again and he saw her standing nearby. Back rigid like someone had shoved a crowbar up her ass and those mirrored shades were facing his way.

It was unsettling to say the least.

Refusing to let it show, he grinned and gave a little wave, “Sure love trading here. For trade stuff.”

Wow if that line wasn’t a bag of flaming brahmin shit. Gonna need to work on that improv, he mentally chastised himself as he watched her reaction. With anyone else that might fly but she seemed to be smarter than the average yao guai. Inwardly, Deacon winced as her mouth pulled into a firm frown and she muttered something to her companions. They nodded and all wandered off. After a few minutes of covertly watching them, Deacon realized that her strange little brood had stationed themselves near all the visible exits of Bunker hill and she was nowhere to be seen.

The word ‘shit’ came to mind.

Chewing a splinter in his thumb, he thought over his options. It was a good day for information gathering and he needed to talk to Stanton about a package anyhow. Yet if his cover was blown...

Well the best cover is to pretend like your cover isn’t possibly blown, right?

It was a shit idea but maybe it could work.

Scratching at a bugbite on his leg, he checked over some of his weapons and hoped that nothing would happen.

Nothing did.

It wasn’t until evening when he inconspicuously wandered out of the gate with a caravan that he actually truly got a chance to talk with madame mirror shades. He’d parted with the caravan after the first bridge, made a typically paranoid slink for one of his favorite safe-ish sleeping spots on the roof of an old building, and then set to the bedding down ritual that he liked the most. He set a few mines, checked his guns, nibbled some brahmin jerky, and leaned against the shack wall to get some shuteye. Although he wasn’t about to forget the days’ strangeness, he also wasn’t going to lose sleep over it.

It wasn’t often that someone could sneak up on him. Happened with a molerat once, he’d woken up to it gnawing on his boot.  This was a less humorous situation as he woke to feel a knife pressed against his neck and a hot breath against his ear, “Why are you following me?”

Deacon inched his hand toward his gun but the knife was pressed harder and began to bite flesh just below his ear. Wetness itched at the collar of his shirt as he inwardly braced himself for whatever she had planned.

“I asked you a question. Go for your weapons again and I will leave your friends nothing but a cold corpse to mourn,” her voice was a rich blend of fuck you and I'm gonna fuck you up as she hissed against him.

He plastered on a smile, “What makes you think I have friends, doll?”

Silence.

He glanced without moving his head to where she was crouched. The mirrored shades were gone; replaced with some non reflective military shades. The arm sling she’d been wearing was gone and she was no longer wearing the black trenchcoat and hat. Now she was in timeworn grey-black military gear and at a precursory glance he counted three different guns and at least four knives hidden in various holsters. They seemed the most obvious on purpose and he didn't doubt that she had more hidden elsewhere. After all, that’s what he would do and he was starting to think they were a lot more alike than he’d anticipated.

More silence.

After a while, it seemed she was tiring of the stare-off. “If I find you following me again, I will _not_ wait for answers,” she said as a cloth was pressed roughly over his face.

For a second, he thought she was trying to smother him. Then, he realized that he could breathe just fine. Yet the world blurred and dimmed away anyhow before he was able to fully register what she'd just done. He woke up to the light creeping over the horizon and a pounding headache. Fingers tracing the slight cut on his neck, he frowned. That had been both impressive and admittedly odd. His eyes drifted over to where he’d set his mines and he muttered, “Fat lot of good you did.”

Freezing in a stretch, his eyes snapped back to the mines and he counted again. Seven. That wasn’t right- he’d only set out four that night.

Shit.

* * *

  ~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

 

Rosie perched at the top of her chosen look-out point and watched the man through the scope of the rifle she’d bargained off a merchant.  

It was obvious when the man found her gift. He’d been mid stretch when his head had snapped back to the direction of the mines he’d set down plus the extras she’d carefully placed nearby. A grin had tugged at her lips as she watched him disarm them all slowly. Whoever he was- his skillset was impressive. In the old days, she might have put in a request to recruit or transfer him to her team. A good agent with a careful eye and attention to detail had been essential back then.

Nick crouched carefully next to her, “So tell me, what caught your interest with this loon?”

Rosie didn't move more than a slight tilt of her head as she answered, “Take a guess, Detective.”

He rubbed his chin and turned to watch the man for a while, “Fraid I can’t without more clues. I'm a detective, not a physic.”

“Hm…fine. He’s been following me.”

She could feel as Nick's bright yellow eyes turned to focus on her, “How’d you figure?”

Without shifting her gaze from man below she tapped her ear. “Being mostly blind means I have to depend on different things, Nick. Though Sun was able to fix some of the damage in one eye, I still depend mostly on what I can hear. I’ve heard his voice several times. ...its distinct.”

Nick chuckled. “What makes you think he’s following you though? Commonwealth isn't that big. Some people travel.”

She glanced at him, “Habit. Paranoia. Circumstance. I'm sure he's following me. However... I don’t know why. He pretends to be different people but he… isn’t as good as people I once knew. Figured I’d turn the table and follow him for once. Recon work gives my shoulder a chance to heal anyhow …how are the others?”

“Keeping themselves entertained. Hancock said he might wander back to Goodneighbor to check things if you’re going to be at this for a while, and Piper wanted to go check on Natalie.  ”

Nodding, she waved a hand, “Tell them to go ahead. Send Maccready and Duke with Piper and we’ll catch up at Goodneighbor later. Maybe in a few hours or maybe in a day or two. I want to watch him for a while. Afterwards, we need to head to Hangman before we go to poking at those files you mentioned in Diamond City. I’ve gotten word that they need help fixing some scavenged turrets.”

 

* * *

 

~ ♥ ~  
[Nick Valentine]

 

“ _Stop right there._ ”

Light flickered on around the room. Nick shielded his eyes from the blinding light with his free hand and grumbled. Rude to blind someone if you weren’t going to shoot them. He'd never cared for this type of interrogation tactic as old Nick either and now he could feel the buzz in the back of his skull that meant trouble similar to a headache.

What a day.

As if following some insane jackass around the commonwealth wasn’t hilarious fun, the trek through ghoul infested undergrounds to a creepy church that made even HIS synthetic skin crawl had put him on the edges of a foul mood. The lights and small militia wasn’t helping.

To his right, Mystery stood stock still with her pistol aimed at the new arrivals. He chanced a glance at her, and he could see that behind her shades, her eyes were squinted so tightly they were almost closed. Likely two hundred years frozen hadn't done anything good in the way of light sensitivity if he was to put a guess in. 

“You went through a lot of effort to ‘arrange’ this meeting. But before we go any further, answer my questions,” the woman in the middle of the threatening trio behind the lights spoke. “Who the hell are you?”

It didn't really take a detective like Valentine to see that this was no ordinary group of well armed folk living in a fortified sewer. He frowned and glanced towards his companion who hadn’t moved more than the tiniest shift of her head as she looked over the group. A muscle in her jaw flexed. It wouldn’t be difficult for her to put a bullet in every person across from them and leave before they could even register that she’d fired. He’d seen her do it so that wasn’t the question.

The question was- would she?

It was difficult to tell what she was thinking but he hoped that she was thinking more on the 'not to start a fight' side of the tracks.

Slowly, Mystery’s gun began to lower, “Hm.”

Nick relaxed the grip on his own pistol as he asked, “Wanna fill me in, doll?”

Her gloved hand came up and tapped next to her ear and he nodded. Another recognized voice. Curiouser and curiouser. Moments ticked by. An old style ‘mexican stand-off’ as they all stood staring before Mystery gave a slight nod and holstered her pistol before answering, “Who I am is irrelevant.”

Nick had to bite back the amused snort. All this time together and although she’d opened up to him it seemed like her paranoia had only grown. More-so after she’d seemingly realized she was being followed. Still, the things he knew about her could probably  be counted on hand. Hancock said that she once signed a letter to him with ‘R.’ and Valentine knew that she’d once been called Agent Stone. Agent R. Stone.  Not much to go off but who Agent R. Stone actually was… that was a mystery no one had solved. Probably why she prefered the name. Ironic that.

The woman in the middle of the far group crossed her arms as if to cradle the sass she was about to spit out, “Oh? And you simply have decided that you get to walk in and choose for us what is relevant and what is not?”

Mystery’s only answer was silence.

Nick chuckled and shifted. Time to defuse the situation. Tapping an old pack on his arm to pack the old leaves tighter he spoke casually towards the angry group across fro them, “Mind if I smoke?”

The woman narrowed her eyes, “I’m not your master.”

Not really the answer he wanted but not a no.

The twitch that went through Mystery was hard to miss. The scowl that followed was harder still as she spoke, “I’ve lowered my weapons, will you not do me the same curtesy?”

“Until we’ve determined that you’re not a threat, we’ll point our weapons wherever we damn well please.”

Valentine pulled two cigarettes from his pack, lit them both and offered one to Mystery. She seemed to stare hard at it for a moment before accepting and returning her gaze to the woman, “I’m not your enemy, but I won’t tolerate your aiming a gun at me for much longer.” She took a drag and blew the smoke from her nose like some sort of mythical creature before speaking in a dangerous tone, “We talk. Nice and civil, or I leave.”

The woman holding a large machine gun muttered under her breath, “Like hell. Sounds like a Courser, Des.”

“No.” The middle woman, Des, shook her head, “It’s clear she’s not with the Institute. What I want to know is who told her how to find us.”

Mystery gave a soft sigh, “ _Seuls les imbéciles parier sur un cheval_. That was not how I found you.”

A man in a grungy white tee and rolled up jeans too large for his small frame, wandered in and stopped cold in his tracks, “Shit.”

“Deacon? What’s going on?” Des asked.

The man she’d called Deacon looked shaken and he put on a strained grin, “Heard you were havin a party… figured I'd see why you didn't invite.”

Nick caught the tilt of Mystery’s attentive gaze as she refocused on the new player and it all clicked into place. Information nipped at his servos as he realized that by the tilt to her head she’d recognized the man’s voice as well. They’d been tailing the loon for most of the day now so it only made sense. Of course, she just _had_ to be right, and now it seemed they’d stumbled into whoever he reported back to.

Well, she wasn’t wrong that the voice was certainly distinctive.

He took a simulated drag of his cigarette and chuckled to himself, “Ah. That makes sense.”

 

* * *

 

~●-●~  
[Deacon]

 

Deacon was a cautious man.

He’d double back, use stealthboys, or play dead- whatever it took to ease his paranoia of being followed. More-so after the incident with the lady of name redacted. So when he came home to find out that a stranger in black was knocking on their doorstep, it was a very understandable panic that zipped through his mind. Had the institute found them because of him? Had he finally fucked up? Had he missed more signs? Was this safehouse compromised as well?

Relief was almost tangent when he realized that it was once more-- the eerie woman from before.

Still, not a good thing, but he was pretty sure she at least wasn’t institute or their imminent destruction.

Not yet, anyways.

Das shifted, “What the hell is going on here Deacon?” It was an angry whisper now as his brain raced to catch up to his stomach that had dropped to somewhere around his boots.

“Uh, remember what I told you earlier? Well that’s _her_.”

Des gave him an angry glare, “I’ve never known you to slip up before, Deacon.”

The woman with no name shifted across from them as she stomped out the last of her cig. Somehow she seemed to have heard Des' angry whispers from where she stood across the room. Miss Name-redacted answered in that same flat tone, her voice carrying like an old tune in the empty crypt, “He didn’t. Or… not how you would assume. Listen, I’m done waiting. Attempt to shoot- and I kill everyone in this room. _Capiche_?”

She turned on her heel and vanished down the darkened path before anyone could utter a word. The synth she had been with, took his time crushing his cigarette beneath his own heel before moving to follow.

Glory leaned slightly to look at Des, “Do I go?”

Des shook her head, “No, but Deacon- It’s up to you to fix this. You know we’re in no shape to change location again. Kill her or see if she’ll join us. It’s up to you.”

Deacon rubbed the back of his neck, “Alright. I’ll… see what I can do.”

 

~~

 

It took Deacon three days to find her. She was elbows deep in grease at one of the minutemen settlements that had been cropping up. Laying on her back, her view of him was blocked by the mass of machinery that was a turret in need of repair. “Listen, if you want to block my shitty light I’m going to put you to work,” she snapped as he approached. Without speaking, he stationed himself next to her where he wouldn’t be casting a shadow and began silently handing her tools as she requested them.

“Alright, do me a favor and press that yellow button near the top?” She finally barked before her voice dropped to a mutter, “Either it starts or I loose the other half of my face. Win-win right? …not like there are mirrors to preen in front of. …swear to god, I’m going to toss this thing in the river if I have to fix it again. Two days on one peice of shit… built better than this in my sleep...”

With a grin at her angry mutters, he pressed the switch and stepped back hastily incase it really did explode. The turret started up with a sputter that evolved into the solid purr of a working machine and he breathed a slight sigh of relief. She slid out from under the turret and set to dusting herself off as she issues orders, “Grab one of the boys from the wood-pile team and move this to the north section, yeah?” Halfway through dusting her shoulder her hand froze and the welding goggle covered eyes turned his direction, “...hm, we haven’t met yet.”

Hastily, she wiped her hand on the grease and dust covered overalls she was wearing and offered it to him, “I’m called Blue or Mystery… or sometimes Boss. Doesn’t seem to matter which. Honestly, I don’t care. Now I’ll give you the brief welcome speech- I don’t tolerate violence, theft, or discrimination in my settlements. You work for what you eat. I request you work at least an hour in the fields a day. Pitch in with fixing shit. Hammers and nails are there for a reason but don’t to a sloppy job. Slow work is better than shoddy work. Everyone takes turns cooking. Newcomers are allowed one gun and a second pair of clothing. I’ll be here for another day if you need lessons in shooting or have the mind for tinkering and have questions. Scavenged materials go towards fixin shit or trading with Bunker Hill. They should send a caravan down here every few days or so now. The shack in the far corner is mine, you break in and I'll feed you to Strong. I’m not even slightly joking on that. Oh… and don’t shoot Strong. He may be a Super Mutant but he’s part of this team. He’s at another settlement right now hauling some cars I want scrapped but I’m sure you’ll see him eventually.”

He reached out his hand, “That’s one hell of an introduction. I’m Sam.”  His mind cheered as he played to the lie. Sam was one of his more solid, fleshed out characters. Even had a drawl to go with it.

The remarkably soft hand in his own tensed like a vice and within seconds he found himself eating the dusty ground with his arm twisted up behind his back and a knee digging into his spine.

The snarl in his ear was once more hot and furious as she hissed, “What did I tell you about following me? ...what did she call you? Deacon? You should know-- I don’t make threats lightly.”

Deacon wheezed a little in his reply, “Guess I should have gotten my face changed after all.”

Her knee pressed farther into his back, earning a pop that on any other circumstance he might have thanked her for. “Wouldn’t have mattered, _Deacon_. It wasn’t your face that gave you away.”

“Yo, Blue? What are you doing? Did you catch another thief?” A voice spoke from nearby. Deacon shifted his head and recognized Diamond city’s own reporter Piper Wright. Even if he liked buying her paper, he doubted she would stick up for him out of his Diamond City get-up. Right now, he was an unknown.

Still, he toyed with the idea of calling for her help.

The weight on his back shifted slightly as Mystery answered, “Something like that. Don’t worry, I’m not attacking settlers at random.”

Piper shifted nervously, “Okay, uh… did you need any help?”

“No, Piper. I have this handled.”

“Alright. Uhm… Nicky wanted you to know that the food is almost ready.”

“Thank you. Please let Mr. Valentine know that I will eat later.”

“Right…sure.” Piper muttered.

Dust was kicked up as she walked away and fingers wrapped around the back of Deacons neck to hold his head as Lady Name-redacted spoke to him, “You have approximately fifty seconds to tell me why I shouldn’t break your spine and ship you back to your underground friends in a box.”

“Uhm…” Deacon’s mind flitted through the best and most flippant lies, and he eventually settled on one, “Because I’d hate to have my trained deathclaws ravage the locals? They get so terribly lonely when I’m not around.” Hah. Nailed it. Sarcasm and insane threat- check. Kind of tongue in cheek.

“Thirty seconds.”

"Postage rates are outrageous?"

She snorted.

Deacon scowled into the ground. This woman was an annoying sort of persistent and smart. Not easy to rattle. Though… he did have to admire her skill and ability to recognize him. A pity there hadn't been anyone else in that vault or he’d definitely have to consider trying to recruit them. 

“Ten. ...Nine. ...Eight.”

“Okay, okay,” He squirmed, “I just wanted to find a safe place to settle. You know, kids and a wife? Picket fence? Maybe a puppy? And I’d heard that the minutemen had a place near here. Our meeting was _pure_ coincidence.”

She continued to count but he could swear there was a chuckle behind it somewhere, “Seven. ...Six.”

Deacon struggled against her more now only for her to twist his arm sharper.  After biting back a yelp he fussed out an answer, “Fine. Des wanted to know if _you_ wanted to join us.”

“....... Five. Four. Three-”

“Oh com’mon! That one was actually the truth!”

“I know. I also heard her tell you to kill me. None of your answers have told me _why_ I should refrain from killing you though.”

“Wait, you heard that? …But you’d left.”

The pressure disappeared from his back and he was hauled upwards by a thin arm that seemed to be nothing but muscle.  Her grubby hand grabbed his chin and tilted his head, “Looks like your neck is healing nicely, Mr. Lies.” Her hand dropped away and she stepped back, “I suggest you keep your tongue in check while you tell me why your ‘Des’ wants me to join.”

Deacon couldn’t fight the grin from his face as he spoke, “You weren’t _actually_ going to kill me, huh?”

A dirty hand reached up to tug the goggles from her face as she replied, “Maybe.”

For some reason he believed that more than if she had agreed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations**  
>  _Seuls les imbéciles parier sur un cheval_ \-- I have more than one string to my bow


	23. Cold Like The Ice In Your Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gird ya loins an dun say I din' warn ya.  
> (once again, I'm still sick and there might be glaring errors due to that. I'll edit and fix them eventually)  
> EDIT- 4/21/16 -- found one of those boogering 'glaring errors'. Fixed it. lol 'whoopsie'!

* * *

 

 ~ ♥ ~  
[Nick Valentine]

 

Nick stood shuffling over papers at his desk when Mystery heaved a sigh and spoke in a dry whisper, “Nick…”

The circuit shorting sadness that echoed with the words sent his processors in alarm mode and he glanced up sharply. Since the man from the underground organization had stopped by, she had been acting steadily odder than the baseline he was starting to consider normal. The emotion that oozed from her tired form now was actually more alarming than the cool exterior she typically held as a front. For a moment her lips twisted into a frown that dimpled her cheek but then she finally spat the words that seemed to be boiling beneath the surface, “I have an idea. I doubt either of us will like it but it might be… worthwhile to present it.”

He arched one of his delicately imprinted brows and waited. Yellow eyes focused sharply on her like a cat watching prey. She actually fidgeted for a moment before dragging out a pack of cigarettes and shakily fumbled at lighting it. Third strike worked, and her relieved sigh billowed with the result like fog over the shoreline.  

“I couldn’t see. I was mostly blind. ...and it was dark.”

He nodded. The burned retinas that shone a mirky silver blue were testament to that. What she was actually getting at wasn’t revealed yet, but he knew she’d get there. She always did.

Taking another breath of the cigarette, she blew it towards his office ceiling before continuing, “...but the chairs at the memory den can recreate the scene perfectly. Amari says that my memory recreates it as all my senses perceived it. I still physically cannot see very well… better now, I suppose, but if you were to watch…”

She trailed off and kept her gaze on the ceiling where she stood near the door like a frightened animal ready to bolt. There was a cold coil of loathing where his gut would be as he realized that she was not only right, but that this would be the best action to take for information. The idea of making her relive the incident again repulsed him though. She shouldn’t have to. Hell, she shouldn't have to reveal something so private as a first person glimpse into her memories. The words traveled unedited to his mouth and he couldn't hold them back, “Are you sure--”

A flash of anger and pain creased over her face before it fell into a hard blank mask worn by the soldiers and the damned, and she slipped her sunglasses on as she placed a hand on the door handle, “Yes.”

And there it was. The walls were back up and and ‘Agent Stone’ was all that was shown. Clipped words tossed like plasma grenades over a wall so high that trying to scale it would be suicidal. She slipped out of the door with a terse request to meet at the gates when he was ready. Ellie peeked around from the bedroom area with Hancock, dark brown eyes wide with worry as she asked, “Nick?”

Hancock flicked his lighter idly as he strolled around the corner, dark filmed eyes shrewd as he stared Nick down. The ghoul has a soft streak a mile wide for their elusive boss and somehow even managed to remain nosy without the titular organ.

Nick shifted his tie out of habit and shook his head, “Sorry, Ellie, I’ve been asked to keep this one under wraps.”

Ellie nodded and retreated but the ghoul Mayor’s expression shifted to suppressed anger like the drop of a hat as he lounged against the wall, “that’s not gonna fly, Val. We’re all in this and I know whatever we’re about to put her through is hell because it shook Amari and Irma when they sent her your direction. What’s going on?”

Nick spread his hands in an imitation of a placating gesture. “Not mine to tell, John.”

“Bullshit,” Hancock advanced on him to stab an angry finger in his chest as he growled, “don’t give me that typical Brahmin shit. You care, organs or not. I know that you’ve figured out where I stand on this. Hell, I think you knew before I did. You aren’t the only one who knows things, Nick. We _both_ know she only let on about her leg because she couldn’t fix it on her own even if you won't admit that.” 

Hancock waved an exasperated hand as he continued, “We can’t _HELP_ if no one talks.” The ghoul stepped back and an ugly leer crossed his face, “then again, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you don’t give a shit about her and you really are some unfeeling piece of institute scrap.”

He was trying to get a rise out of him. Trying to ‘push his buttons’ and Nick hated to admit it but it worked. Anger snapped like an electric current and he very briefly considered hitting his old friend. His unskinned hand curled and uncurled for a moment as his eyes narrowed.

The mayor of Goodneighbor rocked on his heels and lit a cig with a smirk that screamed of an unspoken gloat. Manipulative bastard. Hancock chuckled, “See? I may not be a detective but it’s good to know you give a shit. Good thing you’re better at poker than keeping that crush hidden.”

 

* * *

 

 ~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

 

It would have been kinder to never hear the creak of the pod opening ever again. To sit in the conductive chair that felt too much like the one from the vault. To stare at the screen that looked far more focused now that one eyes had been operated one.

Kinder.

But kindness in the wasteland seemed to be in short supply, and none could be spared for an old war vet who somehow got chosen to play the leading role in a back to the future re-run. Taking a deep breath she braced herself for the inevitable slip into her memories. 

They dove back further this time. Back to the very beginning of that day, or at least what her mind considered the beginning. She couldn’t see the scene very well. Eyes still too damaged to focus properly on the hypnotism screen but it lingered in her mind all the same. The memory was still fresh as an open wound.

Warm tones filled the memory built room and the soft sigh of leaves in the breeze now seemed so foreign to hear ears. A breeze danced through the open window and with it came the soft memory of smells that once accompanied autumn.

It started with her sitting in the bedroom while Nate finished shaving. Perfectly made bed and uniforms pressed to perfection in the closet to her right. A film canister rolled idly in her palm. Pictures from the small marriage ceremony they’d held in the hospital. They were a gift from her cousin, Jack. His attention to detail helped with his inventions and his hobby in photography. Until they got developed she would simply have to hope they were good.

But it wasn’t pictures she had been thinking about.

Not when the warm sun didn’t seem to penetrate the dark cloud that muffled her mind.

The doctors said it was normal at this stage, but it never felt that way. She’d lock herself in the house for days. Couldn’t face the world. Couldn’t face herself. Sometimes, she couldn’t even get out of bed.

Couldn’t take care of the baby that always seemed collicky and crying.

It wasn’t always the ‘postpartum depression’ that everyone seemed content to blame, and too many seemed overly content to forget that the uniforms in the closet were hers. Not her husband’s, brother’s, or father’s.

_Hers._

Surviving the blast that she’d expected to take her life meant an abundance of scars. Sometimes she curled tight and tried to ignore the memories that make her shake. Sometimes it was the fierce ache from a leg that no longer existed. Sometimes she couldn’t tell what it was.

The new leg made her look and almost walk normal. It helped everyone but her forget. She couldn’t forget. Every step reminded her and the flashbacks seemed almost worse because of it.

The fake skin was pliant. Supple. Even a little warm to the touch.

Some sort of program, she for once didn’t understand and could replicate, helped her ‘feel’ some pressure but it wasn’t the same. There was nothing to touch and her brain knew it and wouldn’t leave it be. Worrying at the thought like a dog with a dishtowel.

She bowed her head and stared down at the film canister as a sigh escaped her.

The outfit that her mother had picked out was a soft teal maternity top with padding in case of milk leaks and then ‘fashionable’ high waisted tan pants to hide the lingering signs that she’d recently held a child. Definitely her mother’s quirky sense of brightly colored fashion and modern well-meaning intentions. It was at least comfortable and not a hospital gown. How could she turn it down?

She couldn’t.

Smiles were strained. Happiness was faked. Were they happy she was home even if she wasn’t whole? Couldn’t be. How many years had she been deployed away from home just to suddenly be dropped in their laps with the need for care? Too long probably.

She could see it in their eyes.

The canister dropped and she covered her face with a shuddering breath.

It wouldn’t do to lose control.

Wouldn’t do to ruin the makeup so carefully applied so she didn’t let tears fall. Didn’t press against her eyes hard enough to make stars appear. Didn’t bite her trembling lip that threatened to betray the held back sobs. Didn’t muss and rip at the artfully styled hair that Codsworth had helped her with. Didn’t rock in her seat and wrinkle the pristine outfit.

Didn’t.

But god how she wanted to.

Nate called from the bathroom, “Rosie? …Rose, Hun, do you know where I put that tie your mother sent?”

She pulled on the calm of a soldier, stooped to grab the canister, and placed it on the dresser. Warm colored wood with pictures of family dotting the surface and a colorful lace doily that she was sure her mother had picked up from one of the older ladies on the french refugee reserve. Her eyes trailed to the wall where a thin beaded band hung on the wall with a picture of her father in his ever so meticulously crisp uniform. MIA and no dogtags for the family who still held the faint hope he’d be found and come home.

War takes so much from people.

Her lip quirked as she mumbled under her breath, “At least war never changes…”

The tie was on the bathroom doorknob.

Partially pre-tied already. Maybe it was lazy, but the nerve damage in her hand was still healing and Nate couldn’t tie a tie to save his life. Type up a column to illuminate the dark corners of the world? Sure.

But not tie a tie.

Obviously, he’d never been a boy-scout.

She cracked that joke as she helped him finish getting ready. Fake smile plastered hard and brittle as she worked. Eyes unfocused as she stared at the fabric. Never rising to meet his warm dark butterscotch gaze even when they mumbled their ‘I love you’s of the morning. A cup of coffee and an hour to ‘relax’ before her Aunt arrived to watch Shaun. Then it would be into the car and several hours drive to the early veterans dinner. And evening of fake laughter and too much alcohol that she wouldn’t be able to touch because of her medications anyhow. Afterwards they planned to meet up with the rest of the family at the park. See old friends and pretend there weren’t soldiers dying in a war. Smile pretty.

But that’s not what happens.

Instead, there was a doorbell chime that wasn’t by family.

Her smile never wavered for the Vault-tec representative even with the assault of his eye watering yellow jacket and tan hat. The smile didn’t falter for the nervous stutter, the ginger hair that stuck out like he’d been sleeping in the stupid looking van he drove around in, or the eyes that flicked like a ticking clock towards the scars that covered the side of her face.

It didn’t falter because she refuse to give it the chance.

She’d filled out the clipboard quickly and shoved it back into his hands as the mask began to slip. Corner of her mouth twitching almost in time with with her heart.

Once she’d near slammed the door shut, she’d remembered to call out a goodbye of sorts. Heart doing a hummingbird hammer on her ribs as she tried to force herself to calm down.

Nate smiled at her. Big hands rubbed gently up and down her arms as he kissed just shy of her hairline. He was one of the few people who was slightly taller than her.

Hushed words of praise and comfort.

Baby cries.

The mobile turns with a pretty chime.

And then it all comes crashing down.

Codsworth yells from the living room. Screams start up outside. Sirens flair to life and suddenly the warm autumn air seems synister. Nate is holding Shaun as they run and halfway to the vault she mentally cursed herself for forgetting her guns and gear-- still locked in the safe she’d buried in the backyard with holotapes and classified files she hadn’t known what to do with.

Then, just as the elevator begins to lower, the bomb goes.

Nate had been facing her.

Sometimes she wished they’d been reversed. A petty wish that made her feel ill every time it crossed her mind. Yet it always lingered there like the tattoo on her thigh. A stain on her mind that she couldn't scrub away.

The horizon became a blinding white and the first wave of radiation rolled with the clouds. Someone’s scream turned into a wretch and a roar like hell had opened as the shock wave came rushing towards them. The emergency drop function sent them all plummeting as the top slammed shut. Heat radiated down from above as the world ended. A second later and they would have been a nasty sort of flash fried.

They’d need treatment for radiation as it was.

Hydraulics slowed their descent and they were greeted by white coats and calming tones meant to ease. Nate clasped her hand as she reached around blindly-- nothing imprinted on her eyes but the last view of the world and the silhouette of Nate cradling the last remnant of the man they’d both loved.

The line formed with shaky breaths and muttered ‘oh gods’. Someone cried and someone else heaved. Machines buzzed and whirred. Cloth was pressed into her free hand and they were led somewhere further in. Edges of lights now filtered in through the imprint and she could see blurry indistinct shapes.

She held Shaun to her chest.  

Questions and panic flitted like one of her aunt’s birds in the back of her mind. Would it be safe to nurse? How badly could radiation harm a child at his age? As she silently panicked, she blindly traced a finger over his face to make him giggle. To re-assure herself that he still lived.

There had been no question on if they doctors could fix her eyesight then.

Vaults were meant to continue and preserve humanity right? Of course the tech to fix eyes would be there.

Of course.

But it wasn’t.

“ _The decontamination chamber will help with the radiation, ma’am._ ”

In the memory pod, her hands balled to fists and the enamel hardened nails bit into flesh.

There had been no _reason_ to lie.

The zip of that blue suit still echoes in her ears like a death sentence. Nate didn’t bother to kiss her before stepping up into his chamber. No reason to. They didn’t know. They thought they’d be getting out and living in the vault. An eternity of artificial lights and a ‘hope you aren’t claustrophobic’ life while the world took time to heal.

This time she couldn’t see his reassuring smile.

 

* * *

 

~ ♥ ~  
[Nick Valentine]

 

Valentine stood invisible in the memory.

Watched silently and picked up clues. Momentarily basked in the fresh view of the old world. Then he got to see what the original Nick Valentine had never had memories of-- the bombs. Pretty hues of green and blue with the soft tints of autumn beginning were erased in a matter of seconds. The word turned a deadly shade of bright and grey all at once. The sky rolled and the ripples of radiation laid like heavy rings. A stone dropped into the pond of the world.

As the elevator lowered, a soldier saluted the platform and squeezed their eyes shut.

Death was inevitable.

Then the cold grey of a vault. Painted lines of yellow and red, the only colors visible beside the ghastly blue of the vault suit. It all looked like a bad interpretation of a space age novel. Gold lamé looking fabric lined the front and edges of the terrible outfits. 111 tagged on their backs so that you could identify what prison these poor souls belonged to.

After the bomb he only really had eyes for Rosie.

The scarred lady with soft brown skin and fresh scars who clung to her baby and shakely felt out the world with fingers that threatened to tremble. She was different that person he knew. ‘A rose by any other name’ ran through his mind as he watched her. He’d heard the man as he’d said the name earlier with seemingly no knowledge that merely minutes before, she’d been fighting some unseen monster in her mind like so many other soldiers from this horrible war.

Nick remembered those days.

Those days weren’t exclusive to soldiers but he’d served his time like everyone else who’d gotten drafted. His breaking point didn’t come till later though. After Jennifer had been killed, original Nick had crumbled into a lot of ‘those days’. Bottle of whisky in hand and no care in the damn world beyond trying to drink himself stupid. House never cleaned and lights never turned on. Pictures faced down until he lifted them up and hot tears seemed to be never ending.

To hell with people who thought men didn’t or couldn’t cry.

Robots couldn’t.

It almost hurt worse not being able to cry. Simulated emotions. A concept in a hollow shell. He missed the little things that had made him human even though he’d probably fight anyone who suggested he needed to be anything more than what he was now.

Nick remembered the old days though.

Old Nick had cried until he’d fallen asleep. Cried in silence. Cried with screams so loud that ironically the neighbors would call the cops. Department buddies and white coats he couldn’t remember the names of. Everyone asking for his time when he just needed that time to grieve.

‘You need help’ they’d said.  ‘Go out and do something’ ‘work with this program’’get some fresh air’ they suggested. Pester, pester, pester until he finally agreed.

So he’d gone.

Gone to get his mid scanned and canned. Then built and scrapped near two hundred years later. Left in a junk heap with old memories and little more than ghosts in the machine.

Rosie’s earlier words came back to mind, ‘we all look the same dead’. It held new meaning since she’d uttered the words. Metal or bone, it didn’t seem to matter once the body stopped moving and the mind stopped processing.

In the quiet hours, he’d watch and think while she slept, the angry hard lines easing into a peaceful softness on her face until a nightmare forced it’s way to the forefront and she’d wake. He watched her and thought over what she said.

Always thinking.

Now he watched once more as she crawled into the so called decontamination chamber with the others and then it was lights out for the popsicles. The entire thing was sick.

A few seconds after the pod fully engaged the memory dimmed. A few seconds in the darkened vault and then it brightened to suddenly time worn edges, strange people, and the pods were being thawed.

Kellogg.

The man wore the grizzly bloodstained standard outfit that screamed ‘merc’ to anyone with half a brain. Jagged scar down the face like the crater of a plane crash and a personality to match it all.

Rose was groggy. He could see it as her delicate cateye tattooed eyes fluttered open. A tiny click as the ring on her hand hit and rubbed at the glass. Nate was across from her holding the child and shivering. For them, virtually no time had passed. Neither one seemed to realize what was happening until it was too late and blood seeped into the garish blue as the pod closed. Warm brown eyes stared dead and accusing at Valentine from beyond the glass.

Rose screamed and her fist hit the glass as the pod re-engaged. Fierce fiery emotion fading away with the ice that crusted the pod and she sagged.

Once more frozen.

A part of him thinks that parts of her never quite thawed out.

Darkness pulled at him as Dr. Amari began the process of pulling Rosie out. He could disconnect himself without an issue and he had a lot to think about. The cords fell away and he stood almost feeling a little shaky. Amari opened the pod to Rosie lying deathly still with her eyes closed behind the shades. Wet tear trails drifted from behind her glasses and into her hairline where she lay. Deep gashes on the armrest where her nails had dug in and blood on her palms where halfmoon divots bled their sorrows.

“I’ll need a moment Doctor,” Rosie said. Her husky voice was the soft shake that hid behind a calm monotone. All control while spiraling quickly out of it.

Nick stared at the ceiling as he thought to himself that if it had been him, he’d need more than a moment.

He’d need a lifetime.


	24. Cracks in the Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm FUCKING SMASHED SO HERE HAVE A CHAPTER.

* * *

 ~●-●~  
[Deacon]

Wind whistled around the high bridge with the ferocity of a deathclaw with a thorn in its ass.

Every gust seemed to manage to slide behind Deacon’s glasses and sting at his eyes. They watered and protested as he tried not to squint so much that it limited his vision. So far, his day was off to a roaring start. The question was- was that roaring good or bad?

The howls of the far off Behemoth was suggesting the latter.

Beside him stood an impassive figure who seemed completely unperturbed by the wind- unlike her companions, Mayor Hancock and Detective Valentine. The duo who’d agreed to come was now huddled near the old husks of cars with narrowed eyes and guarded expressions.

Deacon couldn’t blame them.

If he was honest, he was still a little mystified how it had come to this. Standing on the bridge beside the ruins of Lexington they could see the minefield and the ‘entrance’ to the Railroad’s old main hub.  

The lady of name redacted had listened to his plea.  

Not just listened but actually paid attention and then agreed to help when he’d told her the hints of the where and what. It had taken a day or two to set up. He’d had to convince Des to let him take the ‘newbie’ on a test run and see if he could get her to join. Then he’d had to hightail it to one of his caches while she ran a ‘personal errand’ and he followed from a distance.

Diamond City and then Goodneighbor.

There was a sick rock of doubt that ate at his stomach knowing that she’d gone into the proverbial lion's den. He’d seen pictures of lions, and from a distance he’d even seen some of the mutated versions that now wandered thanks to the great zoos and preserves that once existed.  Still, he’d followed in a new disguise and was sure she hadn’t seen him.

More-so because when she’d pulled her goggles from her face back in hangman's alley he’d seen that she was damn near blind.

It took a lot of practiced courser poker face not to shit out his reaction like a fucking brick.

Her words of how his disguise wasn’t what gave him away made more sense after that, but now he couldn’t figure out what HAD been the giveaway. Maybe she was psychic? Wouldn’t be the first he’d met but he had really hoped that one was the last.

In Goodneighbor they’d gone into the memory den. A good sign if any. Amari and the Mayor had been sympathetic to the railroad’s cause and about as loyal as outsiders could get. Whatever they had been doing left the group stoic and shaken when they left though. The neutral and nearly emotionless face of the woman seemed to be accompanied by a constant chimney of smoke as they walked through the ruins- until he’d witnessed her slip from the view of the group. In the moment that she thought herself unobserved she took a flask from her pack and tossed back the contents. No one noticed her missing even after she spent a scant minute sagged against the wall as if bowed under the weight of the world.

When people turned to look for her, she had already slipped back into place beside them as if she’d never left.

He’d joined them at the edge of town.

His arrival was punctuated by some of the group splitting off to check on a nearby settlement while she and the leftovers ‘ _assisted relations with positive influences to the commonwealth_ ’. Deacon wasn’t sure what she meant by that because he’d yet to fully let slip who he actually worked for.

A part of him nagged that she probably already knew.

She seemed to know a great deal and held more cards than even Deacon. That fact alone put him on edge and set off alarms, but he was desperate. They all were. The last attack had let them shaken and the entire organization was still fragmented and trying to pick up the pieces.

If they could just get into the old base and get some of Carrington’s work and some of the old hidden files then it wouldn’t all looks so hopeless.

Of course, getting into the base was looking less promising now that they were _looking_ at it. Second gen Synths roamed the area with feral ghouls. Raiders held the far side of town and there was an old building on the other side that held a group of Children of the Atom cultists. Last of all, somewhere near enough to be a worry, a mutant behemoth raged and bellowed as it stomped and tromped.

Oh, and the minefield.

Can’t forget that if you value your legs.

His eyes drifted back from the situation below and back to his new assistant. He’d see how she handled the situation. Maybe they’d perform a miracle and have a successful mission. Or maybe she’d wind up dead and he’d no longer have to worry about someone sneakier than him dogging his steps.

Her head tilted and he noticed that somehow she’d managed to light a fresh cigarette even with the wind. It was clenched between teeth and tinted lips as she looked over a set of twin modified .44 pistols. The glowing embers of the deathstick bobbed ever so slightly as she spoke, “Have ‘n idea. Ya boys stay here. Stay quiet. Be rea’y ta get the tourist out ‘n head for the secret tunnel at the signal. I’ll mee’cha there.”

One last puff and she passed the cig off to the ghoul mayor and holstered her pistols while walking for the edge. The wind whipped with a frenzy and he could swear he heard her singing under her breath that ended with a defiant ‘and here I go!’ and she set off at a run towards the edge of the broken bridge. She leapt and her palm touched down on the hood of a car, propelling her upwards and pushing her into a graceful flip off the edge.

“Fucking hell!” Hancock snarled as he dashed forward. Deacon followed with a raised brow. When he’d thought of her dying on the mission that hadn’t really been by falling from the six story drop of a high rise bridge. He had to hand it to her though, it was the first time he’d seen someone suicide out of a hopeless looking shit-cake of a mission, but who was he to judge?

What really confused him was Valentine’s laughter.

The synth had walked calmly over to the edge. Hancock's dropped cigarette was now claimed by the synth detective as his coat whipped in the frenzy of wind. Yellow eyes glued to the ground below, his reaction seemed grossly out of place from what Deacon had observed of their relationship.

After a moment, he finally saw why Valentine was laughing.

It was pure pandemonium below.

A lone figure was systematically tearing through the synths. A flip over a mine resulted in it being chucked at a synth’s face and Deacon felt a strange sort of glee and the blossom of hope that this mission wouldn’t be quite the dragon he’d thought they’d have to slay.

Hancock punched the synths shoulder before stealing back his cigarette, “Shut up. ...asshole. You knew she was going to do that?”

Valentine shook his head before pulling out his own gun to check over it, “Naw, but it’s not the craziest thing she’s done. She jumped off the top of Trinity Tower once. Dame has a crazy streak in her.”

“You’re joking.”

“Why would I be? Just ask Pipes or Mac. They saw it. Hell, Strong was there too. …you know she sprained her hand punching a super mutant on that run? Ran out of bullets so she resorted to the ol’ bare knuckle brawl.”

“No shit.”

Deacon listened to the banter with half an ear, his eyes were riveted to the show below. She seemed to whirl over the minefield as if it didn’t exist beyond being a personal advantage. Quick little leaps had her flipping over cars where she would plant a bomb and slip behind a wall. The synths would come closer and then BOOM, the resulting explosion lit the evening sky. When there were only  handful of the clanker's left, she turned and gave a salute before turning and diving headfirst into the building.

A hand smacked his arm, making him jump and pull his eyes from the madness and flames below.

“Hey, Strangeman, wild guess that was the sign. We should be heading out,” Hancock said with a lopsided grin and a gesture over his shoulder to where Nick and the Tourist were waiting. As Deacon nodded he hoped that maybe this crazy chick was just was the Railroad needed. Now, if he could only get her to join that would be swell.

 

* * *

 

 ~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

 

Rosie muttered curses under her breath. The new listening program on her pipboy was streaming the translated beeps she needed because she couldn’t see what was on the screen but none of the information was what she wanted and her temper was quickly raising to unmanageable as all her command codes failed to work.

She typed furiously while the others scoured the other rooms for needed data.

\-- _CODE NOT VALID_ \--

Her palm smacked the computer with her anger and she hissed as a sizable dent made the screen shudder and flicker, “Don’t give me that you piece of shit, my code is perfectly valid.”

\-- _ERROR--_

 _\--COMMAND CODE NOT VALID PLEASE CONTACT SYSTEM ADMINISTRATOR_ \--

Calming breaths almost wasn’t enough as her hands curled to fists. When Deacon had let slip where they were heading, she’d felt a thrill of hope to be able to find information. She knew the outpost well enough. Knew it might have records. Medical knowledge. Old base locations. Maybe even information on the ‘institute’ or the vaults. ANYTHING to give her an edge or lead. 

Anything.

Instead, it seemed someone had administered a data purge that left every computer virtually useless to her unless she wanted to predict the fucking past with a robot that wasn’t there or listen to some wasteland ‘scientist’ ramble about their newest ‘invention’ that was little more than a badly reproduced stealthboy.

The click of a gun had her hands freeze in place over the keyboard as she tried to enter a new command code.

“You seem oddly intent to get the information off that computer,” Deacon said softly.

The playful edge was gone, replaced by calculated worry and a hefty dose of paranoia. Not a surprise, they’d been getting along fine previously but she supposed she might be suspicious as well if someone started scratching at a databank that held ‘delicate information’ to an underground movement. Of course, she hadn’t failed to notice that he had yet to tell her who had last occupied this space or who he worked with.

He didn’t need to though.

The tape that she’d found and listened to several weeks prior had formed it’s own connections when Desdemonia had spoken on their first meeting. She knew who they were, and although she didn’t trust them, she trusted their goals were aligned well enough that she didn’t have to worry about them too much.

It was a gamble but she had to see how far his threat extended. With a snarl, she put a boot through the case of the machine and then began to rip out the circuit boards as she spoke, “My codes aren’t working.”

Another click was a round in the chamber but at this point she didn’t care.

“Your institute codes?”

With a huff she grabbed a bunch of cords and simply ripped them out. It was probably damaging most of the stuff she wanted to salvage but it helped ease the wave of anger.

“No, my fucking Alpha command codes you--” She broke into a string of curses in every language she’d taken time to learn and slammed her hand down on the keyboard. The action sent keys flying every direction and her companions came running in.

They skid to a stop as she stood breathing hard and staring down the barrel of the gun. It wasn’t difficult to see that he was prepared to pull the trigger. She didn’t need to see the eyes hidden behind the shades that matched her own to know that.

Yet, he was waiting for her.

Waiting to see if she would prove herself an enemy.

Instead, she whirled away and gestured at the room, “Your gang of little fuck-ups erased ninety percent of the databanks. Burned the fucking papers for warmth! _Vous avez brûlé tous les vestiges de l'espoir!_ ”

Her hand slammed into the wall. A crater and a crack in the concrete left the foundation shuddering as she slid down against the grey. Her shoulders slumped with the weight of her disappointments and burdens. Her head didn't raise as she muttered, “Fuck off.”

Valentine took a step forward and words on his lips died when she looked up and snarled it again. “Fuck. Off.” Taking a deep breath and refocusing on the floor, she spoke softer as her anger began to abate, “give me ten minutes to calm down.”

Hancock backed out of the room without a word. Eyes narrowed and glued to the wall where she’d hit. The detective hesitated a moment more before following. Deacon didn’t move beyond letting his hand drop to his side. The gun no longer pointed at her. She rubbed her face tiredly before looking at him.

“Did I fucking stutter?”

He took a step back but frowned, “Are you a synth?”

Bitterness twisted her lips as she took off her glasses to clean them, “If only it were that simple.” She snorted and leaned her head back, “Wouldn’t it be so much easier if that was the case? Just reprogram me and let me go.” She sighed and began digging at the pack at her leg, “But my answer is no.”

He backed out of the room with a nod and that fake smile he wore like a nervous tick.

She finally found the flask and brought the last of it to her lips before giving a disgusted mutter, “But lucky for all of you, I’m something much worse.”

 

* * *

 

~/_\~   
[Hancock]

 

Hancock watched over Mystery with narrowed eyes and a chest full of worry that felt heavier than lead. Even a ghoul could smell the slight whiff of booze that somehow seemed to linger on her mouth even though he’d never seen her drink beyond that one night back at Sanctuary.  Maybe no one else noticed but she was a hair’s breath from losing her careful control and since the visit to Goodneighbor he knew half of the why.

The cracks were showing in her facade like the ones she’d put into a wall of solid concrete.

He chalked that up to it all being over two hundred though.

Just like her.

The fact still sat oddly with him. It connected a lot of dots and answered a lot of questions but it also left a lot more than it answered. His biggest question was ‘how did she know how to do what she does’. Every poster of a smiling housewife seemed to mock him now. He’d seen her in a similar dress. Cleaner than anyone else ever was nowdays and hair styled pretty. Tattooed eyeliner and pristine nails from tech that didn’t really exist anymore.

But it was a mask like every other.

No housewife who posed with a vacuum in one hand, a nuka cola in the other, and impossibly clean children nearby could charge a building of super mutants without batting an eye.

Or could they?

Everyone thought they knew what life had been like ‘before the bombs fell’. They all grew up playing pretend and frolicing about as if they were ‘prewar industrialites’. Pretending to live in a prewar house with things that were new and shiny had been the big rage when they weren’t beating the snot out of each other. It was better when they played at having caps aplenty- often using stones or plastic poker chips as substitutes.

But how much of a mockery was that? Afterall, her’s was the generation that blew up the world. They created the ghouls and feral baddies. They played with toys that couldn’t be replicated now.

He flicked an old butterfly knife in his hands while thinking.

How different was the world?

He’d seen the screen with Amari. Not the same deal that Valentine had gotten but close enough. The world was pristine and poised. Clean and proper. But what was under the surface? He’d seen her run past the waiting figures at the gate. Elbow her way through and snarl that she was on the list.

Self preservation came before saving others.

Yet, that’s not what she practiced now even if it was a wasteland standard. Was it the loss of her husband and child or what there another factor in play?

With a sigh, he pocketed the knife and tried to push aside to questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translation-**  
>  _Vous avez brûlé tous les vestiges de l'espoir_ \- **You've burned all vestiges of hope**  
>  JUST A WARninG if you have a problem with any of the previously mentioned pairings then you may want to stop readin now because RELATIONS ARE COMING TO TOWN LIKE FUCKING SANTA EXCEPT BETTER BECAUSE THESE ARE REAL AND GONNA ACTUALLY BE THERE.


	25. Not What I Expected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PEOPLE DO THINGS AND IT IS WONDERFUL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( **Seriously, if any of the pairings mentioned in the beginning bother you then stop reading. Go now. Run for the hills. Last chance.** ....No? you're not gone? Good. Have fun.)

* * *

~●-●~  
[Deacon]

Sulking was a verifiable pastime.

At least for Deacon it was.

After reporting back to Des and handing in the results of his ‘successful’ mission, he convinced her to give the okay on trying to officially recruit the woman. Maybe even run a few covert ops on the fringes while he was at it. All this, of course, meant that he’d now spent the last few days with the group who’d returned to a familiar little settlement just beyond the river.

The same river that he was now making his nightly slink along, checking the message caches and the haunts in the area. He edged along the water like a nonexistent shadow. It was the sound of singing that had drawn him in and changed his evening prowl to a delicate stalk. Creeping forward meant that the words became more distinguishable but he still wasn’t sure of the owner.

The element of surprise was not his when he peeked around a cropping of rock and spotted none other than Mystery.  In her arms, she cradled a bundle of cloth and crooned a song in a language that he’d never heard. A frown tugged unbidden over his face. As far as he could remember, none of the settlers had children younger than five in this settlement.

In silence, he watched until she finished singing. Then she carefully unwrapped a rock from the blanket, kissed it and spoke quietly, “Goodnight Shaun. ...May you dream of happier times.”

The words ‘ _holy shit_ ’ seemed to marquee in his head like the neon lights he’d seen during his one trip to the Mojave.

Deacon waited until she was gone to check over the rock. Nothing seemed to really distinguish it from any of the other rocks that littered the riverbank and there were no hidden messages that he could find on it or any of the others. Eventually he gave up trying to puzzle it out and slunk back to where everyone not working guard duty were sitting. Warm bodies around a healthy fire next to the building cheerfully dubbed The Common House. It was an old house at the center of town that had been converted to be something of a community building where all the meals were taken. Music piped from the radio nearby and dots of light bounced around the area from a decorative ball made from the broken mirrors.

Perfectly worn down logs and stones had been lain for seating along with the few rickety old chairs that survived. Snagging one of the available cooked meat and vegetable sticks, he slid onto his favored log with a rug draped over it like padding. “Mystery around?” He asked leaning back casually and picking at his food. It looked good, but the need for information was more important than the one for food at the moment.  

The old synth detective shook his head without looking up from the repair work he was doing on his hand, “If you need her you might check her lair. She’s heading out in the morning to check on a settlement to the west.”

Deacon simply nodded. He didn’t want to hunt her out just yet, but he’d learned early on that her ‘lair’ was a little trailer next to the vault. Always good to know where the dangerous ones hole up.

Chewing a bite of what he suspected was molerat, he leaned forward and decided to take a chance as he asked, “So… you guys have known her for longer than I have. Is she…” he stopped and waved the stick vaguely in a circle, “Like… all there?”

Five different pairs of eyes were suddenly aimed his way and he was almost sure he’d just signed a death warrant via crazy cult of vault worshipers who sing rocks to beddy-bye. Panic rose up like a radscorpion and scorched low in his stomach as he forced his face to a calm neutral.

Valentine’s hands had gone a deathly still as he stared, “Care to _elaborate_ on that?”

The question held a poised menace. Mystery had become oddly beloved with her little group of misfits and he was treading on a ground laced with landmines. Deacon gave his best casual shrug and popped a piece of what might have been toasted squash into his mouth as he answered, “Saw her sing to a rock earlier. Just trying to see if that was, yaknow, normal.”

The detective’s brows drew together. To his left, it was the sharpshooter Maccready who answered as he poked at the fire with his hat pulled low, “She’s ‘all there’. She was probably just saying goodnight to her son.”

All eyes had now turned to the merc who had turned an interesting shade of red at the visible edges of his ears where they poked from the cap.

Hancock leaned forward with dark narrowed eyes, “An’ how the hell do you know that, Mac?”

Maccready did a good imitation of Deacon’s earlier shrug as he answered, “We got talking about our kids. She mentioned missing her son and I told her a trick I used when I had to first leave Duncan. Said maybe it’d help.”

Piper leaned forward like a dog who’d just sniffed a bone, “Her son? Did she mention anything else?”

“No,” A familiar voice said from Deacon’s left, “I didn’t.”

The mass jump of surprise from the guilty group could have collapsed a house.

Maccready glanced up with a pained expression and his hands desperately searched out a bottle of alcohol from the nearby pile.  Finding one brought a flicker of relief to his face as he held it up to her and asked, “Hey, boss. Couldn’t sleep?”

Long bare legs stepped over the log Deacon was sitting on as she took a seat next to him and answered, “No.”

Piper leaned forward, “Deacon said you were singing? Cause you miss your kid? What happened to him?”

Deacon glanced at her, the sunglasses were still on but her hair was loose. Curly black waves that reached all the way down to her lower back. New streaks of silver graced a few lines from her temples and he wondered how old she really was. It was hard to tell with the skin that he could see. All of it seemed healthy to the point of being nearly radiant but that could have been the fire glow. Her sense of style seemed meant for someone younger though. A ratty old with shirt with only one patchwork sleeve and a teal polkadot jumper was her only armour against the crisp night air.

She leaned back and stretched her feet towards the fire as people waited to see if she would answer the reporter. The feet were bare. One more sign that she was either insane or very, very confident. From all that Deacon knew about her, his vote was edging steadily towards the insane category. He liked that about her though.

Like salt and pepper shakers.

He’d had a pretty good collection back at the switchboard. It hadn’t felt right to try and collect them when they’d been down there though.

Mystery took a swig from the bottle and pulled him from his musings with a gag that had him raising his food up out of vomit range with alarm. She held the bottle at arm's length and coughed into her elbow for a minute before glaring at Maccready, “The hell is in that, RJ?”

She gagged again as Maccready gave a lopsided smile and took the bottle back and passed it to Piper, “Nuka Cola. I take it you aren’t a fan?”

Shaking her head, Mystery made a furious gesture towards Hancock and near ran from the fire.

Ten minutes later the ghoul came back and smacked Maccready in the head hard enough to near knock him over.

“Idiot.”

Piper stood with a little shout, “What the hell, John?”

Hancock picked up his own personal stash of alcohol and started trekking back as he muttered the answer over his shoulder, “Remember she told you she’s allergic to that shit?  The fuck were you thinking letting her drink that?”

 

* * *

~/_\~   
[Hancock]

 

 

Hancock woke to a massive hangover and an arm around his bare waist.

Light streamed in to a place that was definitely not the old state house and the soft tickle of hair and warm breath on his back left him no clues to go with his aching head. For a moment, he lay very still and confused until he caught sight of the insanely perfect nails on the hand that was pressed against his chest.

The words ‘ _oh fuck_ ’ seemed to toll in time with the breakfast bell down by the Common House.

A soft mumble turned into a tiny whimper and he watched as the hand gave a little flex. “...nate…” The word was breathed so softly that he almost wasn’t even sure that he’d heard it, but there is was, like a fart in a graveyard.

The ‘oh fuck’ switched like a jangle on the radio to trade off with a ‘damn’, and as he began to wake more, the razor edge of panic began to settle in.

Most of the night was a bit of a drunken blur.

After he’d smacked Mac for being a fuckwit, he’d settled in with Rosie in the trailer for a bit of light drinking and watching to make sure the allergic reaction didn’t progress. With massive shortages in antihistamines, things like allergies could get deadly rather fast and worry had been a cold companion.

Of course, truly, the only ‘cold’ companion had been her.

Claiming to be chilled, she’d crawled over and claimed his lap.

He might have turned her away except at that point only he’d been drinking. Cold hands had pressed under his jacket and her kiss had been a fascinating and addicting salty sweet that shifted to a familiar mint when she’d pulled away for a moment to take a drink from his bottle. A bitter part of his mind chimed in the back that it might have been just to wash the taste of ghoul away. He knew better with her though it was probably just the driving need to settle nerves back to being the proper steel instead of the jelly they’d turned into like his own.

Fuck, he loved the mint on her tongue though.

Everyone seemed content to lace their bottles with their own personal favorite flavors. Mac and Pipes usually shared a Rum and Nuke. Preston and Sturges surprisingly made a fairly strong sour tato vodka that was flavored with a hint of melon.

Hancock’s prefered mix was moonshine and mentats. Sometimes he’d add some mutfruit in there.

He wasn’t overly choosy.

It seemed Mystery wasn’t either as she’d laughed into the return kiss.

Hancock squeezed his eyes shut and sighed at the memory. It had been a ferocious sort of passionate, but now she was obviously dreaming of someone dead and gone with far better skin. There was a part of him that argued that it was okay even if it stung. A one night thing was okay in his book. It wasn’t that he minded the occasional fling or one night stand. He’d even had a few since becoming a ghoul.

Not a lot.

A few.

Now distinctly less since becoming mayor. It had gone from ‘regular’ to ‘the odd occasion’ and then to ‘once on a blue moon to match the state of his balls’. The problem was, sex required a certain amount of trust, and he wasn’t really the trusting type. At the thought of trust, a thought came to him and he could have slapped himself. He wasn’t even sure they’d taken any of the safety precautions for ghoul on smoothskin sex.

She shifted and her thigh rubbed against his own and oh god was she smooth skinned.

It wasn’t a term he was fond of but it was oddly appropriate for the moment.

After a few minutes of trying to pretend ‘everything is fine’, he decided that he couldn’t just keep laying there panicking about shit. The edge of bed seemed to take forever to carefully scoot over to as he slipped out from the rugged but comfortably thick blankets that they’d been curled under. As he searched for his pants he planned out his next moves. 

First order of buisness- buisness. He’d have to be careful not to piss in sight of that damned turret though. Not a good idea to get your dick shot off first thing in the morning and he didn’t know if he was in the system or not. Best not to take a chance on things like that.

Second order- acquire some RadAway? She was so sensitive to radiation he was almost worried she’d go comatose again. Curie had mentioned something about ‘ze facinating healing prozzes and adaptazon’ but he’d failed to listen to that particular lecture the other night.

Third order? Maybe breakfast. Crap, what do you serve a dame you’ve been lust wanking over for several weeks? More-so after you’ve finally fucked her and you weren’t sure if you’d taken safety measures against Rads? Fuck that sounded terrible even in his head. Made love? Schematics at this point because he couldn’t remember much of it anyhow which was the true pity.

He passed a hand over his eyes in frustration.

Kneeling nude on the floor of her trailer didn’t seem to be bringing answers and he’d yet to find his pants. Running his hand over his head, he looked around for his hat. The trailer certainly wasn’t big enough to be hiding that as well, but it was nowhere to be seen. Turning, his eyes alighted on the leg of his pants sticking out from behind a meticulously organized pile of circuit boards.

Careful to not knock things over, he snagged his pants and had just buttoned them fully when Valentine knocked on the metal of the trailer shell and waltzed in. The Synth stood stock still for a moment before about-facing and stepping right back out.

Hancock was never more grateful that he’d found his pants as he grabbed his boots and bounded out. Wouldn’t do to go waiving his bait-and-tackle at the neighbors. People didn’t need that during their breakfast. … hell… he didn’t even need that during his breakfast.

The detective seemed to be warring with himself around the corner of the trailer and Hancock nearly ran into him as he hissed his apology, “Val. Nick. Hold up a second, man. I’m sorry.”

Valentine whirled on him with anger sparking in his yellow eyes as he heatedly whispered back, “you’re sorry? I watched you bring the alcohol! I never thought you’d stoop so low, John!”

“Now hold up a fucking minute--”

“He didn’t.” Mystery interrupted. Hancock turned and thought his heart had stopped as he got an eyeful of nearly perfect tit. Little lightning scar stretch marks edged around dark nipples and it was all creamy tan scarred skin from breast to exposed perfection that was topped with a mound of black curls. She was literally standing in front of him bare assed in the soft sunlight of the morning. The only thing that might be considered clothing was her typical armband of flowered fabric on her left arm but he really only had eyes for the parts he’d never seen bare in the light previously.

The sight seemed to nearly shut Nick down as well as the synth attempted to stutter out words like a steaming tea-kettle.

The moment seemed to finally unfreeze when Duke trotted by with Hancock’s hat strapped to his head. and Hancock had to wonder if maybe he hadn’t actually woken up. Maybe it was a dream? A really, really fucking good dream.

Mystery sighed and turned away, “When you find your tongues come back to the trailer. I suppose we need to talk.”

Eyes glued to the pert ass and the little tattoo there, he watched as it all swayed from view. For the life of him, Hancock couldn’t seem to remember the other plans he’d been thinking to enact.

 

* * *

~ ♥ ~  
[Nick Valentine]

 

Nick sat mystified at the edge of town with Hancock.

The day had made a sharp left turn neither of them had seen coming.

Hancock lit what had to be his tenth cigarette. The little pile of ash and butts near his boot was the testiment to the dedication and Valentine was surprised that his own matched even if it was only smoking out of habitual simulation and a desperate desire to make his processors do something besides think. He didn’t envy the ghouls lungs after this though. Even with ghoul healing, John was probably going to be feeling the effects heavy in his chest for a while.

Upriver they could hear the chatter and occasional laughter from the settlers as Mystery directed them on her plans to build a bathhouse for the settlement.

Previously the idea had been to head out and help a settlement and then head to diamond city to pick over the abandoned apartment of the merc who stole her old life. Valentine had been on board with that. He understood vendettas and the need to right a wrong.

He didn’t understand that morning.

Adjusting his tie, Valentine heaved a fake breath and leaned back to stare at the sky. It was a strangely clear day for November. Then again, he still hadn’t gotten a hang on the new weather patterns and if he remembered correctly, people wouldn’t start complaining about the cold for another couple of months and then it would be several months of very brutal winter. Hell, now Christmas in July almost made more sense.

The slosh of footsteps brought his attention to Maccready and Deacon using the water the float a tree to where the construction was going on. Macready had a sour look but Deacon looked like a dog chasing ducks.

Hancock stood. “Ya need any help?”

Maccready stuck out his tongue in a childish grimace, “No. Madam bossy-pants has us running logs after I complained about feeling sweaty, so now I get to dose myself with RadAway this evening.”

Deacon splashed in the water, “Hey man, chill. It’s not that bad. At least she doesn't have you breaking mirrors and plates. Piper looks like she wants to kill things and even Sturges is looking grouchy after that lecture on properly installing pipes.”

The merc tugged at the rope over his shoulder and grimaced again, “Yeah. I guess. ...At least I didn’t get Preston’s job.” His voice rose in a poor imitation of Rosie’s, “A real eye for patterns.”

A splash of water came from Deacon as he chastised, “Hey, she’s not that bad. Hell, I think I saw her smile earlier.”

“Yeah,” Mac kicked aimlessly at a stone in the river, “But it was the creepy smile so that doesn’t count.”

“Is there any other kind?” Deacon asked, almost being knocked over as the log pushed forward with the current into the back of his knees.

Hancock rolled his eyes and sat back down now that he could see he wasn’t really needed. He might be healed by radiation but that didn’t mean he wanted waterlogged clothes later.

Maccready’s eyes finally seemed to turn onto both of them with an odd shrewdness, “Why hasn’t she roped you two into anything today?”

Valentine nearly inhaled his cigarette and as he spat it back out and thanked whoever made him without actual lungs as Hancock answered solemnly, “She asked us to take some time to consider a proposal and agreed to leave us alone until we reached our decisions.”

It seemed that Mac was happy enough with that answer but Deacon edged forward with the aim to pry, “What kind of proposal?”

Valentine stood and stomped the last of his cigarette with the tiny flare of annoyance that the man had caused. He still sounded annoyed when he spoke though, “Not your business.”

Hancock nodded amiably as Deacon backed off with a lopsided smile, “Hey now, easy. I’m going. It was just a question.”

Making a disgruntled noise, Valentine stomped away. Hancock actually followed with a muttered ‘wait up’ and a flair as he lit a new cigarette. They walked in silence along the edge of the town until the ghoul finally spoke, “Would you be okay with this?”

Shrugging, Valentine tried to find words but ended up simply staying silent.

The mayor seemed to finally lose his patience as he grabbed at Valentine’s arm, “Listen, Val, we’re old pals. Add on that she laid it all on the table. Just say the word now and I walk back to Goodneighbor and you don’t have to see this mug anymore.”

"No. It's not that..." Valentine ran his metal hand under his hat and over his scalp as he feigned a sigh as if it could push away the swirl of jumbled thoughts, “Why us?”

“Fuck…” Hancock flicked the ash from the tip of his cig with his thumb as he shrugged, “Hell if I know. She’s done crazier things.”

The statement finally drew a chuckle from him as he nodded and glanced towards the edge of town where she was supposedly working. “Yeah,” He muttered, “I guess that’s true. ... Still can’t say I saw it coming.”

Hancock leaned against one of the nearby trees with a vacant look, “Fuckin same.”

 

* * *

 ~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

 

Rosie stood a pair of old cutoff pants with her hands on her hips and muck nearly everywhere.

For the last few hours she’d bounced between projects and carefully taught the settlers how to set pipes, break down items, and mix cob. It had been an interesting find when she’d realized that they had a natural clay deposit in the nearby river. She’d adjusted her plans and sketches on some of the buildings she wanted to build and decided to start the settlers on building the most needed one first.

The bathhouse was probably the most ambitious project, but she’d been hoarding for it and making orders with the caravans since she’d had the vague idea inspired by Hancock’s water purification system. Glass bottles, tires, resins, ceramics and old mirrors. All of it had a place in her plans, and she’d built the solar powered purifier while her shoulder took it’s time to heal in the previous weeks.

Heavy work helped keep her mind from wandering.

Or maybe it let it wander too much.

She couldn’t seem to tell.

Wiping a mud covered hand across her brow, she ignored the streak that it left. She was fighting fatigue herself and trying not to push the settlers too hard, but the progress they’d made was encouraging. With Strong’s help, they’d actually done far more that day than she thought they would. If they were lucky and the pace held out, they actually might have the layout completely set by that evening and it would be in the drying stage within a day. When she returned from Diamond City, it should be ready for the next steps and within a month they should have something similar to a Japanese bathing house.

She’d explained the process to Preston and some of the others when presenting the idea.

Rinse down in a bucket. Soak in a tub of water that could be heated by the hot pipes that were run through the building or by a fire beneath the foundation. Spigots attached to the water tower would provide hot drinking water or hot water for dishes or quick showers. Best part was the idea of warm baths without risking radiation poisoning.

Curie had adopted the idea with glee that made her robotic arms wave merrily as she chattered about it giving her an opportunity to measure some sort of effect. She’d also expressed a strange interest in making soaps and testing their effectiveness with disease. That last statement was less comforting though since the robot didn’t have skin beyond the settler’s to test her experiments on.

Honestly, Rosie just wanted a bath that didn’t make her flesh itch and crawl.

Sadly, that was precisely what she was going to have once she finished mucking around in the cob brick making section. Then she’d start showing the settlers how to layer the old tires at the base of the building and how to place the bottles in the wall to allow light and color to come into the building.

Gritting her teeth ever so slightly, she gripped her prosthetic leg with her muddy hands and pulled. The only problem with foot stomping in the clay pit with the others was that she’d gotten stuck more than once. Every time sent the sensory circuits implanted in her spine into a painful overload. Only Piper had seemed to notice but the woman was overly cross since being lectured on how to ‘properly’ break ceramics that didn’t result in a dust. Rosie suspected that her stealing the last cup of god-awful imitation coffee hadn’t helped the reporter’s mood. She wasn’t worried though, she’d found a nice stash of Nuka Cola that she intended to present later that evening as a peace offering. Add on the fact that Piper didn’t seem to be one to hold a grudge.

Hancock wandered over and leaned on one of the nearby logs with a bemused expression, “The hell you doin in there?”

Rosie huffed and squished her way over to him, “Cob.”

“Cob?”

“Yes. I am teaching them how to make cob.”

His eyes squinted, “I get the feeling you don’t mean some sort of corn.”

She snorted and vainly attempted to dust the drying mud from her hands, “No. I mean Cob. A mixture of water, clay, rough sand, and then straw.”

Hancock dogged after her as she turned and wandered over to the river.

“Val and I have talked.”

Wading into the water, she glanced at him. Turning away, she remained quiet as she started trying to scrub the muck off. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to know the answer but more like she was a little afraid to get her hopes up. The better part of the day had been her throwing herself rather bodily into the project in an effort to forget the talk they’d had that morning.

Ironically, she’d been planning it for a while.

She just never thought it would actually happen.

Of course, now that it had, ‘Ball in your court,’ would have been one of the old sayings appropriate for it all.

Hancock stripped his jacket and sat on it at the river’s edge, “We want to give it a shot.”

Her hands stilled and she stared down at her reflection while listening to her pipboy give off a soft tick from the radiation, “You’re both sure?”

“Yeah, sunshine. We’re sure.”

Licking her lips, she hid the smile that threatened to overwhelm her cheeks.

“Okay.”

She could hear him shift as he spoke, “Okay? Shit, doll… are _you_ reconsidering now?”

That made her look up and at him sharply in surprise, “No. I meant what I said.”

“But just ‘okay’?”

She scooped water into her hands and rinsed her face before wading out to sit beside him. She was quiet as she stared over the river and listened to everyone as they worked. Eventually she broke the quiet, “Don’t mistake my lack of words for lack of enthusiasm.” She looked down at her hands and rubbed that spot that had for a very short time wore a ring. “...I’m pleased.”

“Well you sure as fuck don’t look it.”

Turning her head to look at him out of the edges of her glasses she asked quietly, “Have you ever known me to look or act differently?”

He puffed a sigh, “No. ...sorry, sunshine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been nervously sitting on this chapter for like... almost three weeks. I'm sorry. Also, I know it didn't get smutty. I chickened. I did try but it just... it didn't happen and I liked it this way. 
> 
> Also this is probably my favorite chapter. Ever. I loved writing this. It has some of my best lines and BOOBS. (Jeez Mitzy, what are you? four? calm your tits. ....ahha tits. -_- .... yeeeeah. In the great words of Commander Shepard, I should go.)


	26. Burst Your Goddamn Bubble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((TW: this bit gets a little grizzly? Blood mention. Possibly some brain matter.))  
> [edited 3-7-17 translations should pop up when a mouse is hovered over the non english sections and the conversations should run a little more smoother.]

* * *

 ~ ♥ ~  
[Nick Valentine]

 

Empty. Kellog's old apartment was more bare than some of the brahmin bones they'd passed outside of town. Nick watched as Rosie stalked through the stripped old apartment on the hunt for something they could use. Nearby, Duke sniffed at the floor and Codsworth gave a rather stoic whirr as he puttered around and lifted things with the air of someone picking through dead rats.  Above them, Hancock poked through the upper levels with a tight frown.

Nick dropped his hand from closing the door as he spoke quietly, “Rose?”

Her head snapped up. “Don’t.”

Hancock leaned on the dresser at the top, “Why not? We’re the only ones here. Hell… it’s midnight. Near everyone is asleep. Yaknow, like we should fucking be.”

It was Codsworth who answered as he idly poked a claw through some trash in the corner, “Mum believes that if the ‘Institute’ was involved and they have the tech to build human replicants, then there may be listening devices.” The robot made an audible disdainful sniff, “And her request to not use her name in unsafe locations is perfectly valid, good _sir_.”

The robot hadn't taken the news of their budding relationship well. In fact, he'd been in something of a cagey snit since Rosie spoke to him. It was humorous to an extent but the amusement had long since faded from Nick's circuits as they traveled back to Diamond city.

Hancock signed and flopped catlike over the dresser as he stared morosely down at Rosie, “Yaknow, sunshine, when you asked if we wanted to be in a relationship I thought there would be more communication than this.”

She looked up towards the ghoul briefly but remained silent. Valentine shot a warning glance up towards his mayor friend before returning to working at prying open an old filing cabinet. It wasn’t difficult to tell that now really wasn’t the time to antagonize. She'd mentioned the stakes. There had even been a stiff warning before they entered town. It was, in all honesty, about as much as anyone could hope for when it came to the city that seemed to set her on edge. By the time they actually reached the abandoned house, she was as cold as her interesting last name. Her spine was ramrod straight and her steps echoed a ragtag tune of danger and death.

Yet, in truth, she was actually being nicer to them than to the other's who'd crossed her path. For near everyone else she was near murderous. Upon their arrival to Diamond City, they found that the gate had been closed ‘for the night’. A lie if Nick knew anything. Years of living in that damn city and the gate didn't close for the night. Too easy for the mayor to lose business. Likely this was the Mayor's attempt to keep Rosie out since she'd somehow gotten on the bastards bad side.  Nick wasn't sure what had occurred between them and never bothered asking. He suspected it had something to do with Piper though. When it came to irate people, most things did.

Upon seeing the closed gate, Rosie hissed something into the intercom. A blurry reply had made the nearby guards twitch before she answered... and then the gates rolled upwards. The mayor could be seen, scuttling away like a terrified radroach into his private elevator. Once again, Nick didn't dare but by the pale pallor of the nearby guards, he guessed she'd made another magnificently terrifying threat. One that he didn't doubt she could follow through with if pushed.

After that, they’d gone straight for the building and she’d picked the lock record time using a pin from her curls. Eagerness and hope edged into her face as the door opened to the crushing reality-- lights cold and a seemingly colder trail.

She’d been silent and dour since then.

A whooshing sound revealed a hidden room and Nick looked for who had found the cache. Duke gave a bark from the desk, tail fanning, and tongue lolling as Rosie knelt to look where he’d been.

“Fucking hidden switch,” She muttered softly before heading for the new room. Her hand scratched at the dog’s ears as she passed by and some of the tension lessened in her shoulders for a brief second.

They combed through the room slowly. Weapons, bullets, and old cigars. Rosie stripped the room into their packs like a practiced hand before kneeling down with one of the cigars in her hand next to Duke. “Hey boy, can you track this?”

The dog leaned forward with a soft ‘boof’ and sniffed at the cigar. After a few seconds he sneezed and his tail began to thump against Valentine’s leg rhythmically.

“Find him.” Her quiet command was muffled in the stillness of the room.

Duke was off like a shot and behind him ran Rosie. The door left swinging open with a tired old wail that likely would have woken anyone if they lived on this part of the stands. It took a moment for Hancock and Nick to realize what had happened. With a curse, Hancock pulled on the hood he’d worn to get into town as they sprinted after her. Nick held his hat as he watched Rosie. She didn’t take the stairs-- hopping the railing, she matched pace with the big dog as he wove through the market and quickly out of sight.

Hancock was wheezing softly when they reached the top of the old stadium stairs and Valentine was glad that he didn’t have lungs himself. As it was, the busted bolt in his knee was protesting violently and he wasn’t sure he could keep up. Codsworth floated serenely behind and caught up with them with a sighing sound, “Sirs, Mum has given me a tracking program that allows me to follow at a slower pace. You are likely to injure yourselves trying to keep up. I would be _pleased_ to assist by leading you in the proper direction.”

A gloating tone came from the old Mr Handy and Nick was beginning to re-evaluate his feelings on the old bot. An angry mutter and gasping cough came from Hancock as he braced his hands on his knees. Perhaps ol' John was feeling similarly. Still, Nick gave a nod as he spoke, “I think that might be best. Some of us aint as young as we used to be.”

“Always _happy_ to serve, _sir_.”

Nick wondered exactly how hard it would be to rip one of those metal arms off and beat the sarcastic beachball with it. No one spoke again till they were past the view of the guards at the limits when Hancock tugged off the mask with an angry huff, “The hell did she just run off for?”

Nick offered him a cigarette which earned him a glare. Chuckling, he lit it for himself and pointed to where Codsworth waited ahead of them on the path. “She gave Codsworth codes so he could follow her. Seems she thought this might happen.”

“Yeah… but she just left.”

Rolling the cigarette idly between his fingers, Nick shrugged, “You know what she’s looking for and what she’s like. She did, admittedly cryptically, say what her plans were.”

The ghoul simply tucked his hands into his pockets and rolled his shoulders forward, “Thought she’d talk more… yaknow… now that…”

“You thought that suddenly she’s stop being _her_ just because you were fucking?” Ncik asked with raised brows. He didn’t really care to phrase it that way but he needed the ghoul to hear what it sounded like. It sounded crass and stupid.

“I…” Hancock grimaced, “No… yes. Shit… maybe?”

“Hm.”

“Shit.”

“Mhm.”

“Should I apologize?”

Nick shrugged as he tapped the ash away. “Up to you.”

The mayor nodded and poked at something on the ground with his foot, “Hey… isn’t this hers?”

Kneeling, Nick picked up the small cloth that had been arranged into an arrow on the ground. It was the flowered cloth that she nearly always wore around her left arm when her shirt didn’t have a sleeve. A strange habit but everyone had quirks in the wasteland. Tucking it into his pocket he pursed his lips and looked at the road ahead of them. “You good to run more?”

Hancock nodded with a determined scowl and Codsworth zoomed ahead with a cheerful word. It was beginning to look like they were in for a long night.

 

* * *

~/_\~  
[Hancock]

 

Hancock felt like he might pass out.

Rubbing his chest, he began to regret his previous stance on smoking. For nearly an hour they’d followed a trail of items, markings, and Codsworth pointing them onwards. There was no sign of Rosie beside the visceral carnage left in her wake and it felt like they weren’t getting any closer. There were dead raiders, wild dogs, mole rats, super mutants,  and even a yao guai along the path. Everything looked like it had been torn through by an angry deathclaw and it was more than a little terrifying. More-so when they came across the cadaver of an _actual_ deathclaw. More than a little blood was splattered on the ground that didn’t seem to all have come from the beheaded creature. In the dark of the night it looked like someone had painted most of the ground a deep void of black.

Still, they pressed on.

Hancock thought he might be sick from the stress of it all when Duke could be seen laying near a brutalized  assaultron. A little bandage had been tied over a scrape in his leg and he wagged happily when they spotted him.

They eyes of the assaultron lit as they got closer.

“ _Found the building_ .” Rosie’s voice spoke soft and low in a recorded message, “ _Sorry for not waiting. I’m going to try and dismantle the turrets and broadcast a killswitch for the synths inside. Nick, hun, don’t come near until the light I’ve planted on the south corner switches to shine green, okay? ...and..._ ” There was a soft intake of breath and a pained grunt, “I-... _Take care of Duke. …be safe._ ”

Codsworth prodded at the assaultron while his eye stalks swiveled back and forth, “This was done with a shotgun. Mum doesn’t use hmmm" the robot broke off with a thoughtful hum before puttering ahead and shouting back to them, "Sirs, the light is green. Should we approach?”

Tugging his hat, Valentine nodded and glanced around as he spoke, “Codsworth, can you stay with Duke? You’re right, someone killed this assaultron and it wasn’t Mystery. They could come back.”

Hancock lifted up the dog with a grunt. “Better to take him with us then.”

Trudging up the path, Hancock could see the smoke that rose from the ruined turrets and his stomach gave an unpleasant flop. Valentine grunted and broke into a run. Seeing something Hancock had missed upon first glance.

On the ground was Mystery’s pipboy and a formless lump further ahead.

His world slowed to a crawl and a ringing seemed to set in his ears. Glancing back along the path they’d followed, he saw what he’d missed previously during his tired trudge.

Blood.

It dotted the path in footsteps and splotches and his heart hammered in his throat. Fool’s luck to start ‘wooing’ a girl a couple days just before she got herself killed. His hand curled in Duke’s fur and the dog gave a soft whine.

Fool’s luck for the mayor of fools.

Setting Duke down in a safe-ish section near the wall, he grimly walked to join Valentine as his heart did a two-step hammer against lungs that didn’t seem to work.

The detective stood from the prone body that was laying on the ground and for a moment Hancock fully forgot how to breath.

“It’s not her.”

“What?” Hancock croaked out as he stood rubbing his palms against his jacket and tried to ‘compute’ what Valentine had said. The detective gestured over his shoulder at the body, “Just some poor fool who got a facefull from one of the turrets Mystery dismantled. They’ve been dead maybe a day or two.”

A sigh of relief escaped him only to be stopped short as the sound of gunfire echoed from inside the building along with the creepiest laugh Hancock had ever heard. The male's voice was piped through some sort of speaker system and it echoed over the darkened land like a radstag skittering off into the night.

 

* * *

~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

 

Bitterness and seething rage.

Beneath the calm that she portrayed as she removed her boot from the man’s skull, she was seconds from becoming a raging lunatic. A piece of metal hung off her boot like a desperate crab and her lip began a slow curl.

“Fuck… Geezus, what happened?” Hancock asked as he edged into the room with shotgun drawn and Nick trailing behind him.

Rosie twisted awkwardly and grabbed the piece of metal. Giving it a little tug dislodged it. Upon inspection, it appeared to be some sort of memory or brain implant. Revulsion twisted like sour milk in her stomach and her hand twitched as she thought of throwing it away. A metal hand plucked it from her's instead as Nick asked quietly, "Your boy?”

She shook her head and wiped her hand on her pants.

“Sunshine?” Hancock asked just as softly. 

Unable to look up, she shook her head again and walked to the corner. Five minutes. She just needed five minutes to calm down. Be alone. Breathe. Swallow down the crushing disappointment and broken hope. It was all becoming too much.

Too much.

But at last she wasn’t alone.  

Closing her eyes, she leaned against the wall and considered taking out her flask. A few deep breaths later she rubbed at her face and turned back to the men who were poking about the room. Nick looked up from the computer he was hacking and nodded towards the cooling corpse, “...he say anything?”

Shaking her head again she picked up the man’s dropped pistol.  

A tightness in her throat and a white hot rise of ugly anger hit again and she fired the last of the chambers into the dead merc before tossing the gun angrily back to the floor and walking away to pace in the corner. Her mind couldn’t seem to make up it’s mind. Bouncing between listless anger and a repeated phrase- No leads. She'd always struggled with emotions since the training with Alpha program but now she felt like someone was playing with the switch to her cooling fans and she was nearing a critical meltdown. IT didn't help that the trail to find her son was cooling on the floor and had refused to speak when she’d so very kindly given it the chance.

Her pacing stopped.

Eyes flicking to the corpse, she realized that she did have a possible lead. The Institute. He and his stupid clacking mindless drone synths had confirmed it. Sure, he’d refused to admit that he was working with them but she knew.

She knew.

Bracing her hands on one of the desks, she allowed her mind to race through all that she’d learned about the Institute. Synths. Had a reputation like the boogeyman. Could alter people. Highly advanced tech and possibly had access to things no longer easily gotten on the surface. _Surface_. The word stuck as soon as she thought it and a pleased smile almost tugged at her lips.

They were underground.

Had to be. But now the question was where? Vaults? Caves? She didn’t know enough about the underground layout to know _where_ but she had a few ideas where she could start looking. Pushing away from the desk she began to pace again as her mind organized the plans needed to search for the info she wanted.

 

~~

 

Nick sat anxiously at the terminal.

Rosie had been volatile and unpredictable since Diamond city. Not a word had been spoken since they’d found her and she’d spent hours pacing. Occasionally a rather disturbing feral grin would cross her face and she stop for a moment. On the rarer moment, she would start laughing in a way that even made Valentine’s synthetic skin crawl with how creepy it was. It reminded him of the voice they heard over the speakers. A broken down person who was facing more than they could handle. 

Hancock had stayed and watched with narrowed eyes for a while before mumbling about taking a nap and disappearing into the room they’d passed with a rather pristine looking bed. 

Frowning, Valentine finished the last of the transfers from the computer to the pipboy. A lot of the files were encrypted but he was fairly sure that between the two of them and the terminal she’d rebuilt back in Sanctuary that it could all be cracked. He unplugged the device and glanced to where she had been. Her pacing had stopped and he was alarmed to see that she was slumped over in the corner. A slick puddle of blood pooled next to a limp wrist and soggy sleeve.

Blood. She’d been nearly covered in it when they’d arrived. It was of little surprise with some of the mayhem he'd seen along the road. Now that she’d stopped moving he could see the torn clothing and the wound that bled. Standing fast enough to knock over the chair he’d been sitting in, Nick ran to where she’d collapsed. Taking care not to slip in the pool of leaked life, he knelt beside her and checked for a pulse.

Weak but present.

Slipping an arm under her legs he picked her up.

“JOHN!” He shouted as he headed for the medical room he’d seen in their initial run through the building.

The ghoul came stumbling out of the room clutching his shotgun and squinting. “The fuck?”

“Go get Codsworth and Duke. I need purified water.” He pushed open the door behind him with his back and Hancock’s eyes flicked to Rosie’s unconscious form.

Without a word, he darted away.

 

* * *

~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

 

Rosie cracked an eye open to see an annoying amount of sunlight. Squinting, she shifted and winced. A tugging tightness to the skin at her abdomen reminded her that she’d gotten caught by the razored claws of the deathclaw she’d quite literally stumbled over. Her eyesight was bad on the best of days but running pell mell through the brush in the dark had been, admittedly, a poor decision in hindsight. Duke had nearly been killed trying to help her. The resulting bite on his leg hadn’t been too bad though. No broken bones and the punctures hadn’t gone very deep. They'd been lucky. The deathclaw on the other hand, had not been.

“Mornin,” Hancock's whiskey rough voice greeted her.

She tilted her head to look in the direction of his voice. He sat, looking rather blitzed beside her in an unfamiliar old trailer turned shack.

Nick called from outside, “John? She up?”

“Yeah,” A dark look crossed over the ghouls face before he struggled to his feet and ambled out. Nick came in with a glance over his shoulder at the leaving ghoul.

Rosie frowned and watched Hancock go before stating the stupidly obvious, “I missed something.”

Her throat was dry and there was a foul taste in her mouth that seemed to be a mix of sleep and blood. Never was there more of a day that she missed toothpaste. Or even tooth tabs like they had in the military survival gear.

With a hum of agreement, Nick knelt beside her and lifted up the blanket over her waist as he spoke, “Well… he was a little upset earlier about your running off, but since seeing your arm, he’s been… off. I haven't gotten the why out of him.”

Glancing at her arm gave a soft hum. One of Nick's imprinted brows arched as his yellow gaze matched hers for a brief moment. He glanced away again, checking over the bandage on her stomach as he asked, “Care to share?”

“Maybe.”

He chuckled, “I see. …Rose, I hate to agree with him on this but you might need to talk to us more if you want whatever this is to work. I’m not asking you to change but...”

Rosie turned her head away and focused her blurry gaze on the roof of the trailer. “I know. I intended to but we haven’t been in the safest of places.”

He nodded amiably. “True. You really think they have some sort of listening device planted everywhere though?”

“No,” She raised an arm to cover her eyes when the sunlight that speckled through the rusted roof started to become too much for her uncovered eyes to handle. She gestured vaguely with ther free hand as she spoke, “But Kellogg's place was undoubtedly bugged. I found at least two broadcasting signals using my pipboy and a tripped alarm while we looked. I couldn’t be sure that the synths weren’t transmitting any sort of data from his safehouse, and for a great deal of it all... I’m simply not sure what sort of advancements they’ve made or kept from the war.”

“You think they have war tek?”

She turned her head to look at him from beneath her arm as she answered, “Yes.”

“Because…?”

Covering her eyes once more she gave a halfhearted shrug. “Those implants put into Kellogg take fairly advanced medical tools. That and some of the tech there... I believe they may have advanced beyond what was created in the war. It’s been two hundred years. It only makes sense.”

Finishing with her wound, Nick sat back on his heels as he asked, “If I convince him to come back in, will you explain the arm?”

She flopped a hand wearily in another vague wave, “Maybe.”

Nick huffed, his fans whirring with his aggravation as he spoke, “Rosie…”

“Fine. Yes. I’ll try. ...help me up first. ...goddamn sunlight is drilling into my damn skull...”

“You sure--”

“Yes,” She snapped while dropping her arm back down to her side and squinting petulantly at the ceiling.

Once Nick had set her up in a position that was mildly comfortable, she set to trying to quickly organize her thoughts. Hushed mutters outside pulled her attention to the window and she sat staring at the half dead trees that were swaying gently with the breeze. “Fine,” Hancock finally relented outside. The angry crunch of footsteps carried him back into view as he stomped back into the trailer and sat.

Gesturing at her arm he asked, “When did you take it?”

“Wrong,” Rosie answered softly as she picked at the fraying thin blanket over her lap. 

When she glanced up, she could see his eyes had narrowed and he threw his hands in the air with a huff, “I don’t know why I bother. It’s not like you ever talk to _anyone_.”

She dropped her gaze back down as she muttered under her breath, "wrong."

Nick settled slowly onto the floor of the trailer with the air of all the calm patience of a saint. “Rose, that’s not helping. How did you get those marks?”

Heaving a sigh, she leaned back against the wall. It was a harder question to answer than she'd thought it would be. After what felt like too long she finally managed little more than a grunt, “Hm…”

“You said you’d try.”

With a glare she flexed her hand. “I am. ...I…” sighing she shifted how she sat and fixed her gaze at the window, “It's... complicated. I suppose you have noticed that I have strength that might be considered abnormal?”

Hancock grunted as Nick chuckled, “Abnormal is one word for it.”

Her hand flexed as if on it’s own accord, “It’s enhanced. Among other things...” With a grimace she rubbed at her forehead, it felt like she was trying to talk around a migraine but beyond feeling sensitive to the light she was sure her head didn't hurt. She huffed before continuing, "It was part of a program for soldiers. Before the war."

“So… you had this before? It’s not recent?” Hancock asked. His anger seemed to have abated now that she was talking.

“It’s not FEV,” She said with a slight nod as she glanced at him. Her hand dropped to drum on the floor and she deeply wished that she had another cigarette as she continued, “It’s… what came before FEV. What it was based off. I am one of few ‘ _successful_ ’- and I use that term lightly- super soldier test subjects. Codename Agent Rose Stone of the Alpha Project.”

She glanced down at the blackened marks that blotched over most of her arm. It had been spreading recently but she didn’t think they needed to know that yet. If ever. Several bands of black ink and flowers could be seen over the skin and she gestured at it with her other hand, “When we found out about Mariposa… I tattooed over my Alpha code.”

“Mariposa?”

Blinking slowly, she nodded, “Yes. The short explanation would be that it was the birthplace of today’s FEV and it was not a kind process on the unwilling soldiers stationed there.”

Hancock shifted and draped an arm over his raised knee as he gave a grunt. Nick pulled out a screwdriver and set to fiddling with a loose bolt in his hand while he mused. “Super soldier, huh? Can’t say Old Nick hadn't considered the program himself. Say, you said your father was a 57th division engineer?”

The ghouls eyes flicked between them as he realized that there had been a conversation with information he hadn’t been privy to.

“Yes,” Rosie answered as she switched to fidgeting with a tattered and fraying hole in the blanket that had caught her attention.

“Old Nick served in 57th for two tours before his draft was up. ...I don’t remember a Stone in that group.”

She looked away, “It was an assigned name. I agreed to give up my name for Alpha project.”

Hancock leaned forward with a pained expression, “So your name isn’t even Rosie?”

Her head bowed and she clasped her hands before they could shake, “It was something else. I don't.... remember it. And... it's better if you don't ask.”

The silence that greeted her was far more welcome than the questions. She'd been warned, oh-so-many years ago that she and the other soldiers had been conditioned in case they were captured and subjected to interrogation. She didn't remember any of it but she knew that there were things she almost litterally couldn't say. Not willingly. 

With a hum Hancock leaned forward and brushed over her hand with his own, “Hey, ...sunshine?”

The smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she rolled her hand to clasp his. She didn’t look up as she spoke though, “yes?”

“...Sorry for being an asshole.”

Running the pad of her thumb over his rough skin, she fought a smile and joked, “I suppose if someone must have a negative trait… I apologize as well. As the saying goes ‘old habits die hard as do spies and enemies.’ ...It is difficult to trust since learning that there may be old dangers made new.”

Hancock chuckled, “Well at least we know you didn’t injure your fucking sense of cryptic humor.”

She brought the knuckles of his hand to her lips and kissed them slowly as she whispered against his skin, “Indeed.”

Nick shifted with a sound like clearing his throat, “Hate to interrupt, but can I ask why your pipboy was on the ground outside the building?”

Rosie blinked a few times as she tried to remember what she had done during the furious sprint to find Kellogg and hopefully her son. The night had been a blur. Gunshots, growls, and darkness. 

“Rose?”

She snapped out of her thoughts when Hancock’s hand passed in front of her face. “Hm?”

From where he sat, Nick scowled and braced his elbows on his legs. “Do you need to rest more? We can have this conversation later. Hell, I guess the question isn't really even that important.”

Shaking her head she sighed into her answer, “No. I was simply attempting to access my memory to visualize what had occurred. I’m afraid I was not in the best frame of mind. I believe that it was due to the transmission range. I installed a linked bouncer program to transmit a message to you via a damaged assaultron that Kellogg had seemingly recently disabled. It would be linked to your genetic markers -the ones that I used for the turrets at the vault- and would activate the stopcode broadcast.  The distance was a bit much and I didn’t think to attach it to the broadcast tower on top of the building until I had already left it behind.”

Hancock gave her a pained expression. “Of course when you get chatty it would have to be about fucking relay broadcasting.”

She cocked a brow at him and he grumbled, “I’m not stupid, sunshine. Just because I can’t pick a lock or hack like you too doesn’t mean I don’t know shit.”

“ _On ne change pas une équipe qui gagne _ . It was not said and I would not change you. _Autres temps, autres mœurs _. What you know and what I know may differ but that doesn’t make less of the value.”

The crooked smile that edged over his face made her heart squeeze and give a flutter. Returning her gaze to her lap she lapsed into thought on what to do next. Her mind was sluggish in picking up the pieces it had put together while in a state of rage, shock, and bloodloss.

“Rose?” Valentine touched her knee gently to pull her attention once more up from the depths of thought. He continued almost hesitantly and his hand dug around his pocket, “I had an idea--” He trailed off with a startled frown. “...well shit.”

Hancock focused on him with a tilted frown. “What’s up, Val?”

“I forgot to patch that damn hole in my pocket.”

“And that means fucking what?”

“I...ah… lost the component.”

Rosie brought her hand slowly up to her mouth. The shrill whistle for Duke split the silence and made Hancock wince. Yet it did the trick and soon the big dog trotted in with a happy, lazy wag to flop over her lap. She winced as the action sent a jolt through the newly patched wound on her stomach but she ran her hand over the dog’s ears affectionately before checking over his leg to see how he was healing. Her voice was soft as she crooned down at him, “Hey, boy.”

Duke’s ears perked and flicked her direction but he didn’t move. She switched to rubbing fondly over his large ears as she spoke, “Duke, you're my good boy. Yes, yes your are. I bet my good boy could find the part, yeah? Can you find the part we dropped, boy?”

A large dog groan and yawn was his answer as he pushed up from her lap and disappeared outside in a lazy ticker-tap of claws. It wasn’t long before he returned with Codsworth trailing behind holding the dog’s usual packs. 

“Mum? Is there something you need? The pup was most insistent that I come this way…”

Duke flopped down in the corner beside her and she focused her attention on Codsworth while petting gently over Duke’s head. “Nick dropped a memory component from Kellogg. Would you be willing to help search for it?”

The focusing lens on Codsworth’s eyestalks flexed for a moment before one of his arms bent and he pulled something from his storage compartment. “you mean this, mum?”

She gave a sleepy nod and leaned her head back as she fought to stay awake. “I assume so.”

Nick gestured at the component and she caught the movement through her mostly closed eyes as he spoke, “Amari’s lab equipment could be used to access the information. It may have info or a lead on where to look…”

At the mention of the hated lab, Rosie’s tired eyes snapped open. A jolt of stomach clenching illness and fear bolted through her gut. If she’d never stepped foot into the memory den again it would have been too soon. Far too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  ** _On ne change pas une équipe qui gagne._** \-- One does not change a winning team  
>  ** _Autres temps, autres mœurs._** \-- Other times, other values


	27. Dear God, I Hope You Got My Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm _suuuuper_ sick right now and I wanted to make this longer so I was holding on to it.... but I'll be honest I don't think that's going to happen any time soon with how sick I am. So-- that said, I hope you enjoy what little there is and hopefully this cold will let up so that I can write soon.

* * *

~\o/~   
[Maccready]

 

“Holy sh- uh, ...sheep.” Maccready bit back his expletive as Piper handed him a box of nearly pristine looking comics.

“I found them in one of the old houses,” She said with a familiar mad glint in her eyes that he'd learned early on meant trouble. Usually for him.

Clutching the collection to his chest, Mac acknowledged the sinking feeling in his gut as he asked, “Exactly _WHICH_ old house?”

Piper's only answer was a sly smile that spread over her face. Her eyes flicked over his shoulder and he refrained from groaning as he turned. The Boss stood behind him looking like a radstorm about to kick his ass. His eyes locked onto her lips as she spoke, “Maccready.”

A single word, but it held the ‘I’m going to use your guts for shoe laces’ tone that would make even a deathclaw piss itself in fear. Trying to wrestle down the panic that made his stomach ache and twist, he forced a smile and pulled his eyes up to look at his own reflection in her sunglasses, “Hey boss.”

An eyebrow slowly rose above the hard black line that kept the world from seeing most of her face, “Is that my collection in your hands?”

He swallowed hard and held the box out.

Silence.

The boss stood statue still and he could hear Piper scuff a foot behind him. Probably still grinning. Fuck, he was going to kill her if the boss didn’t do him in first. The urge to squeeze his eyes shut and pretend that he wasn’t there was about as strong as the instinct that told him to drop the box and run like mad.

“That house is off limits.” She paused and her head tilted as she looked down at the comics, “...return them when you are finished reading. Do not allow it to happen again. Oh... and wash your hands before handling them. Please.”

Mac felt his breath stutter as Mystery limped away with Hancock and Valentine in tow. Whirling on the snickering figure behind him, he growled, “I’m going to fu- freaking kill you!”

Piper held up her hands in mock defence, “Hey, hey, she said you could read them right?! Calm your tits. I’ve got a cherry nuka with your name on it if you let me read them too. Plus, it was the new guy, Deacon, who did the snoop-and-find. I just figured you’d want to read them.”

He couldn’t help it as a grin forced it’s way to the surface and he glanced down at the box. There was an issue #1 at the top.

 

* * *

~●-●~  
[Deacon]

 

Deacon stretched out in his hiding spot. The day had been a quiet buzz that didn’t really require much of him after he’d helped in the gardens. After he’d lost Mystery’s trail in Diamond City, he’d retreated back to the settlement to wait and snoop. It was still too early to check the message spots so after poking about one of the ‘forbidden’ houses with the reporter, he’d slunk away to avoid the outcome and get a few hours of the rare shuteye.

Duke lay nearby, having wandered into the settlement not long ago. The lump of tan and black fur was giving soft puppy snores while large ears flicked periodically in the day’s heat. The crunch of footsteps had the dog’s ears perking to attention and his tail gave great vibrating thumps on the ground for whoever was approaching. Deacon shifted his position to try and catch a glimpse of who it was.

Mystery had returned, and she sat gingerly against the warm metal of the old tank nearby as Valentine fussed over a wound across her side and stomach.

“Did you know Engineer Hayness?” She asked quietly.

The old synth’s hands paused for a moment, “That was him? Well it certainly explains a lot. Heard he made Colonel.”

“He did. Refused a higher rank when it was offered… wanted to stay with the boys.”

Valentine’s head tilted and Deacon watched as the detective brushed a strand of hair away from Mystery’s face, “...know the mission he was on when he went MIA?”

“No.”

MIA. Deacon had seen it on the occasional file but he'd never bothered to guess at what it meant. Meat In Animal. Made In Asia? He'd seen that printed on the occasional cup but it seemed unlikely. Major Itchy A--... no, no that probably was _definitely_ not it. He sat pondering the acronym until the synth detective broke the silence.  

“...Rosie, can I ask a favor?”

Her hand slid into his metal one without a flinch as she gave a curt nod. Deacon grinned to himself at the snatches of information and filed it all mentally away for later as Valentine continued, “Got a ghost of my own. I was hoping you might help me track it down and put it to rest. ...You can say no though, doll. I’d understand. And it’s waited this long so a little longer won't hurt.”

She nodded, “Speak it.”

Valentine rocked back on his haunches, hands still clasped by Rosie's thin ones as he spoke, “I mentioned original Nick had something on his mind around Anchorage, yeah?”

Another nod.

“Well I-… _he_ had a girl. Fiance. ...Jennifer. She was murdered.”

Mystery’s eyebrow rose as Valentine stood to pace and continue speaking, “The man responsible--”

“Eddie Winter.” Her shade covered eyes were angled down to the abandoned hands on her lap as she spoke the name softly.

The detective stopped and faced her. “Now how did you know that?”

“I did a lot of reading when I was stuck in the hospital. Name was in the news.” Her hand disappeared into the oversized black trenchcoat she nearly always wore and came back out with a holotape, “I also picked this up at the station in Cambridge.”

Deacon frowned. That station was Brotherhood last he checked. Not a good sign.  

Valentine nodded slowly, “I tried to get to that one once. Too many ferals.”

She nodded, “Indeed. ...Perhaps there is some benefit to remaining on good terms with those bigots if it means helping your cold case.”

Valentine chuckled and returned to crouch near her. “Don’t know if anything is worth making nice with those jerks… how’s your side?”

Her hand batted at his knee as she responded, “Stop fussing.”

“Sorry, doll. You had us worried though. Listen, about the--”

“Stop.” Mystery curled forward and her hands came up to peel off her glasses and rub at her face. The sigh she heaved carried into words that sounded more tired than mr furry-lump Duke looked, “We talked about it. I don’t feel right going back there yet. Maybe she can get the information. Maybe not.”

“But the memories it might hold--”

“Could fade. I know. I just…” Leaning forward, her forehead pressed against the synth detective’s as she spoke, “I can’t.”

Valentine’s hand carded through a loose section of her hair slowly. “I don’t understand, doll. If it means you could find--”

“Nick, no. It’s not… I…” she leaned away and her hands fluttered with her apparent frustration. “Just not yet, okay?”

Valentine nodded slowly as his hand dropped back down to her lap. “Alright. We’ll hold off.”

A whistle from farther down the hill made both of them jerk as Hancock strolled to where they sat. The mayor ghoul walked over and leaned against the truck with a small smile, “Hey, I spoke with Garvey about boarding up your old house to avoid another incident. He and Sturges agreed to do it on their off hours if you’re okay with them being inside the house to do some of the work. Since learning to make cob they haven’t had as big of an issue with building resources.”

A smile passed over her face that bordered on adoration for a brief second as she looked up at the ghoul. “That sounds adequate. If all that is taken care of maybe…” she paused and for the first time Deacon saw her truly smile as she looked up at the two men, “we could retire to the trailer?”

Huffing, Valentine leaned down and scooped her from her seat as if she weighed nothing. “Not until Curie checks the wound like we agreed upon. We both know I'm no doctor.”

 

* * *

~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

 

A roar of noise woke Rosie from sleep. The whir of vertibirds and the hum of engines brought flashes of fire before her eyes along with adrenaline and fear. Opening her eyes, she was met with a mass of confusion-- it wasn’t a dream.

Grabbing the gun from beside her pillow, she surged upwards as lights flared down from above. The sharp pain in her thight was ignored when her hip hit the desk in her haste to scramble outside. Spots of rovings lights pulled her gaze skywards. Above them passed an airship with lights swirling and countless of the smaller vertibird aircrafts hummed around it like flies following a floating corpse. The smell of gun oil and ash seemed to drift on the wind somewhere between true scent and memory.

“ ** _People of the commonwealth-- do not interfere. Our intentions are peaceful. We are, the Brotherhood of Steel._ ** ”

The voice echoed and boomed over the land on repeat. Upon hearing the message, Rosie's eyes narrowed. You don’t ride in on a shining steed with your sword drawn if your intentions are peaceful. Most of the occupants of the commonwealth were looked down upon by the brotherhood and their fanatical anthropocentric beliefs. It was without a doubt that they would label anyone changed by the FEV as nonhuman. Thus, too few would be considered ‘people’ and protected by that ‘peaceful’ flag. Diamond city might be safe since they were bigots in kind but the others? The settlements she'd been assisting?

It would be war.

A new war all over again by idiots and bigots. It had been everything she'd wanted to end. The sting of her nails cutting into her palm was met by a silent vow-- never again. She'd do everything in her power to keep people like that from harming others. Her eyes closed as if to hold back her anger as Valentine spoke a soft quote from nearby, “Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing.”

Her eyes slid back open and she nodded, more to herself than to him, as she watched the last of the vertibirds pass overhead. Speaking softly, she added to the old quote, “doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.” Her thumb rubbed absently over a scratch on her replacement gun, “Nick… I think it’s time we got those memories checked.”

The detective turned with an arched brow, “What changed your mind?”

“War.” _War never changes_ , she added silently as she watched the floating ship pass out of view over the hills. 

Hmm’ing in response, Nick tugged on his coat. “when do we leave?”

“An hour.” She turned and stepped back into the trailer, “tell some of the others. I doubt any of them are asleep after that. Notify Deacon that he’s to come with. I think we’re going to need the Railroad on our side for whatever this brings.” Setting her gun down, she began to dress, “tell Preston and Maccready that there are three more turrets in the very front section of the vault. They have clearance to bring that and _nothing else_ out. I haven’t finished the new programming on them yet but it should be fine for now. Tell Curie I need to speak with her. ...Hancock, are you coming with or do you want to stay behind?”

The ghoul was already mostly dressed and he gave a crooked smile, “do you even have’ta ask?”

She chuckled, “maybe.”

 

* * *

~[X]~  
[Preston Garvey]

 

Preston handed over his armful of supplies and adjusted his hat as he said, “Ma’am, do you think it’s really wise to leave the settlement right now?”

Mystery glanced up briefly from the pack she was putting together before answering, “Yes. Other settlements don’t have as much protection as this one.” Straightening, she held out a piece of folded paper, “take this. It's for your eyes alone. Use it only in an emergency or if the settlement is under attack and you have to fall back.”

His gloved fingers fumbled at unfolding the yellowed paper. It was evacuation plans in careful large letters. A code at the top to switch the programing on the turret to a setting that would allow the settlers to pass.

“Ma’am… exactly how much in supplies do you have down there?”

Swinging the pack over her shoulder, she gave her gun a final once over and holstered it. Her answer was terse, “the vault will keep people alive for maybe a month right now if you bring no other food and ration properly. The water purifier down there still works but I haven’t gotten enough food stored. There are blankets and some beds. Electricity... and I’ve moved seeds and started building growing pods with dirt that Curie and I have removed the radiation from.” She shook her head, “let us just hope it doesn’t come down to all that.”

When she turned away his hand reached out reflexively but simply hovered in the air. “Ma’am, wait.”

Halting, she turned her mirrored shades towards him. The lanterns warding away the darkness flickered off her shades and made her seem sinister as she spoke, “Problem, Garvey?”

“Well, I…” He took a deep breath, “I was going to talk to you about this in the morning but since we can’t…”

“Spit it out, Garvey.”

“I want you to lead the minutemen, Ma’am.”

Her features seemed to sharpen as she fully turned and her tone dropped to something flat and deadly. “What?” 

Preston swallowed down the memories of the deathclaw and how easily she'd torn through it and a group of hardened killers. Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves, he forged ahead, “I know you haven’t even given a yes or no on joining and were still thinking it over but… Well you already lead and take care of at least five different settlements. People look to you for guidance and I… I’m not a leader, Ma’am. It’s not who I am. We need someone who can bring the commonwealth together with a common cause. With all that you do… I was hoping you’d officially take position as General of the Minutemen.”

Nearby, Hancock muttered something under his breath and Maccready piped in with a sarcastic quip that Preston couldn’t seem to hear over the drumming heartbeat in his ears. There was so much he wanted to say, to express on why the Minutemen needed her as their leader. Yet, it seemed as if the words wouldn’t come as he waited for her to simply do more than stand statue still. After what seemed like an eternity, she shifted, the dangerous gaze turning away from him as she answered, “I accept. We will discuss this further when I return.”

His mouth opened to say his thanks but she was already walking away with a sharp whistle and hand gesture to move out. Piper slipped to stand beside him and her expression warred between happy and worried, “Hey, at least she accepted.”

The rifle felt almost too heavy in his hands as he swallowed and gave a nod. Piper’s cheek twitched in a quick but forced smile before she too turned away and jogged to catch up to the leaving party. Preston watched the retreating forms and sighed heavily in the darkness as he spoke to himself, “I just hope I didn’t make another mistake.”


	28. All Dogs and Old Dogs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh you guys are too much! ♥ Seriously, I don't know how this is suddenly getting so much attention but you are all so lovely and I appreciate every single comment and kudo! _(I might not always reply but I see it all and it all gets saved to a file on my computer because honestly I'm just super surprised people read my work.)_
> 
> **♥ Thank you all so, so, SO much! ♥**

 

* * *

~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

 

Rosie ran her hand over the ears of the pitch colored hound as she spoke, “And you are selling her because…?”

The man blinked and began to wring his hands while stuttering, “W-well I don’t ‘ _want_ ’ to but I’ve g-got to make a living somehow. It’s what I do-- train up dogs and s-s-sell them to what I hope are good homes…”

The well cared for plume of the dog’s tail gave a wag as Rosie patted its back and straightened. Duke stood with ears perked and a slow wag of his tail where she'd told him to wait. Upon finishing her inspection, she gave the whistle that allowed him to approach. He came cautiously, large ears perked as he and the newcomer inspected each other.

“So, you do not wish to sell her?” she asked while pressing up her sunglasses and watching the pups begin to play.

“Oh n-no, I do. I mean I d-don’t but I do.”

The man babbled on and she held up a hand to stem the flow of his words, “Perhaps we can find a middle ground. I could hire you. Dogs for my settlements, regular pay, shelter, safety, food for you and them. In return, you stay with the majority of the dogs. Train them. ...do you have any veterinary knowledge?”

His eyes brightened and he gave a gap tooth smile as his shoulders relaxed. The stuttering seemed to ease with his nervousness, “Yeah! It’s how I s-s-started. Found a book on the subject while s-scavving and helped a wounded dog. She had puppies and I’ve been doing it ever since. Dotty’s gone now. Took a bullet from a raider, but I still have a trader who gets me pups to raise.”

Rosie nodded, “and your name?”

“Gene. Gene Rupart.”

“Well Gene, would you work for me and use your veterinary knowledge to care for the animals on my settlement? It may be more than dogs but you’ll be paid fairly.”

His eyes darted around the group. “N-not gonna _eat_ them are you?”

She struggled to fight down a smile as she deadpanned, “Brahmin maybe, but not dogs.”

“An' how m-much are you thinking of p-p-paying?”

At her glance, Hancock stepped in. After a previous conversation and her admittance, he was well aware that she struggled still with the cap system and gauging the worth of things in the wasteland. All suave and grins, he took over the negotiation, “Thirty caps to start with. Ten caps a week. Food, shelter, and supplies will be paid for by the settlement.”

She gave a small jerk of her head in a nod when Hancock glanced at her for confirmation. Offering out a hand to Gene, she took over, “extra ten caps per fully trained dog and an understanding that they sometimes may be sent to other settlements. Should you need to travel to said other settlements, you’ll be assigned a guard to keep you safe. Do you agree to these terms?”

His hand stretched out hesitantly to grasp hers. She gave it a firm shake and gestured up the road, “Are you aware of where Sanctuary is located?”

The man’s gaze followed her own and he nodded. “Just past Concord, right?”

She nodded and pulled a notepad out. As she wrote she said, “Duke will guide you. When you arrive at the gate, ask for Preston. Tell him Mystery has hired you and give him this. I will pay you when I return. If I do not return within a week then he will pay you. Agreed?”

He nodded. A bright grin pressing his thin cheeks up and squinting his eyes. Ripping an extra page from the little notepad she began writing an extra list, “I have one other request. If you have knowledge of these commands and what they mean, I wish you to teach them to the dogs. I will go over them later if you do not. …. If you need someone to help procure pups there should be a caravan coming to the settlement once a week or I can speak to Daisy in Goodneighbor for you.”

At the mention of Daisy, Gene brightened further. “S-she’s who usually gets me the pups. Lots of connections that one. Got me Shadow here.”

Hancock chuckled.

Rosie simply nodded, “I am heading there now. I’ll notify her. How many pups?”

Gene’s eyes sparkled with realization, “You mean, I can have more than one?”

She nodded and lost the battle for a smile as she handed over the papers, “Yes. Though I think we should keep the max at three for now until the settlement is better established.”

He looked positively gleeful as he nodded, “Th-three is fine. I can train three.”

“Good. Then I will put in the request.”

 

* * *

~ ♥ ~  
[Nick Valentine]

 

Green lightning buzzed overhead while radiated water poured from the sky. Nick pulled up the collar of his jacket and squinted through the gloom as Hancock tried to shout over the bluster of wind that whipped around the alley they’d tried to take shelter in, “We’re too near the commons and you can’t be out in this radiation.”

Deacon stood shivering and nodding emphatically nearby as he pressed against the wall and hugged Rosie’s black trench coat around himself. She’d passed it off to him when his own jacket caught fire from a stray supermutant laser shot. Upside down horseshoe kind of day, bad luck pissing down from the sky. Nick cast a glance at Piper. She huddled in beside Deacon looking and wet behind the large goggles that Rosie had forced on her after too many complaints about rain in her eyes.

Rosie stood stoic in the downpour. Her usual sunglasses gone and a thin scratch down her cheek that still bled sluggishly. With a nod towards a crumbling old building she asked, “What’s the ‘Combat Zone’?”

Nick’s eyes followed her gaze to see the flickering neon lights of the cage fighting house. “Not really a good place to duck out of a storm. Heard it was taken over by raiders,” He shouted as another gust of hard pelting water hit them in a roaring wave.

Her eyes narrowed and he couldn’t tell if it was from the wind or the mention of raiders. Even in the downpour, he could see as her tongue poked out to lick her lips briefly when another shot of radiation tinged lightning danced across the sky. She gestured at the building as she shouted back, “Can't stay out here. John, consider this a favor for Goodneighbor. No good to have raiders camped so close.”

Hancock shot her a crooked smirk and they all watched as her head tilted and gaze trailed upwards. “I’ll go in through that upper window--" her hand wave towards an unboarded window near the top of the building that used to be a theater-- "You four head in the front door. I’ll take care of the Raiders if they insist on fighting.”

Nick stepped forward and caught her arm. “You’re going to climb _that_ in the rain? You still have stich--”

"Now is really not the time, _Detective_ ," Rosie snarled as she pulled from his grasp, "I lived through--" she cut herself off and turned her face away as she spoke. The wind carried her angry words towards him, "This isn't the time, Nick. Get inside with the others." 

“Damn it, Val,” Hancock dragged him towards the doors with the others as Rosie dashed towards the wall. Rubble crumbled down from where she kicked off against the brick, her body twisting catlike to catch at an exposed pipe near the window and she disappeared into the dark hole in the wall of the building. Nick cursed the old programming left in his circuits. He knew she could handle herself.  Nick continued his mental tirade against himself as the group crept with raised weapons through the old doors. The pho-chinese archway covered in savage graffiti and crude drawings was their only warning for what might lay ahead. The entrance way was dark-- two hooded figures knelt in a small makeshift cage marked ‘rule breakers’ and one of them was making drunken gurgling snores.

“ **Raiders, I will give you one chance. Put down your weapons and no hostilities will be enforced upon you.** ” Rosie’s voice boomed through some sort of speaker system throughout the building, “ **Those who fight will be killed. Those who do not- will be spared**.”

Hancock tipped water off the brim of his hat as he sighed nearby and checked over his shotgun; counting his shells and stash of chems in preparation for the inevitable fight. Piper gave a yelp and stepped back as one of the caged ‘Rule Breakers’ startled upwards and began to yell-- only to be cut short by Deacon. The knife he'd used dripped a soft crimson in the low light as yells erupted in the next room.

 

* * *

~[o]~  
[Piper]

 

Piper watched as Blue circled the cage fighter like one of the feral wild cats circling prey. The redhead crossed her arms and cocked her hip-- all attitude to go with the wiry muscles that bunched and corded under the thin pale skin. The spiked leather gloves  covered most of the fighters arms, but Piper was sure that she saw the familiar trackmarks that seemed to stain too many wastelander arms.  

“And how would you feel about being under my employ, Miss…?” Blue asked in her usual monotone after coming to a stop in front of the fiery redhead.

“ _Cait_ ,” spat the woman with a thick accent that bounced around the too silent arena. “Not ‘miss’, an ma’be I dun WANT ta go wicha.”

The nearby ghoul ran and hand through the hairs of the blond wig he wore. “Little bird, there will be no fights, no caps, and only yours truly to speak to.” His words were punctuated with little tugs to straighten his tattered and patched suit as if he could make a point with the movements alone.

Glassy green eyes accompanied the wrinkle to Cait’s freckled nose, “Fuck. Point taken.”

Blue tapped a pack of cigarettes on her thigh before lipping one from the pack and lighting it in a practiced gesture while speaking around the billow of smoke, “I will accept your contract then if that’s what you wish. However, contract sounds like slavery. Simply put, you are free to go whenever you wish while under my employ. I will pay a flat fee of…” she glanced at Hancock and he stepped forward. Something Piper had begun to see happen more often than usual.

Hancock hooked a thumb in his belt as he spoke, “hired fighters standard is ten caps a week.”

Blue nodded and snorted a roll of smoke, “Ten caps a week. Bonus of my discretion once a month. I will provide food, medical care, and armour.”

The ghoul in the nice suit leveled a gaze at Cait, “Well, little bird, if you don’t take that offer I might. That’s a fair deal there even if you’re just going to spend most of that time shooting that shit into yourself.”

Blue turned away and stepped down the stairs, “You have until the storm lightens up to decide. _Cait_.”

 

* * *

~*♣*~  
[Daisy]

 

It seemed far too often that Daisy saw her niece being carried in from a battle that left her near death. The old memory of when she first came home from the war still lingered after two hundred years. Now, when she wasn't stopping by briefly with eyes laced with the hard edges of someone near to the breaking point, Daisy was left to wonder more at what had happened that turned the sweet girl she'd known into the monotone woman fit into this broken world with an unnatural ease. It was odd to realize that for Rosie it had been less than a year since she’d been injured and become one more veteran of the war, But it had been well over two hundred years for Daisy and the rest of the world.  

That was two hundred years Rosie hadn’t had time to adjust.

Now her niece sat quiet on the couch in the upper section of Daisy’s store, head tilted back and cloudy, mismatched eyes staring at the ceiling with a mug of tea untouched and rain pattering down fiercely overhead.

“Hun, I know something’s wrong. Can you talk about it?” Daisy asked gently while settling in next to her.

Rosie’s head lolled in her direction. Her lips pursed for a minute, and Daisy knew she was going to avoid the real problem. However, she didn’t expect what Rosie did say though, “...Did you want me to bring Jack’s remains down for burial?”

Daisy sucked a breath as her heart felt as if it momentarily came stop in her chest, “You found him? ...was he...feral?”

“No." Rosie answered with a sigh as her gaze drifted back towards the ceiling, "In his office. Just the remains.”

“I see…” Daisy’s gaze fell down to her tea, “so close?”

Rosie simply hummed as she set her cup aside and stood, “Let me know what you decide. ...I need to head down to the memory den.”

Alarm punched low in her gut as Daisy moved to stand as well. Amari had spoken very little but Daisy had managed to bully both her and Irma into telling her some of the details. If Rosie was heading down there... it was only out of neccessity. Or... perhaps Rosie would end up like Kent. Lost in the past and unable to move forward. The worry bubbled up as Daisy asked quietly, “The memory den?”

Nodding absently, her niece fished out a pair of mangled looking sunglasses from her still somewhat wet black jacket. She slipped them on as she spoke, “Found a lead on Shaun. ...maybe.” A slump in her normally rigid shoulders accompanied a soft sigh. “A pity that revenge didn’t feel better.”

“You found the man?”

“Yeah.” Rosie stepped over to the window and looked down, “... Day, did mom ever find out about Bishop?”

Setting down her tea, Daisy came to stand nearby. Her arms crossed over her chest as she observed the quiet town below. “No. You know she liked to turn a blind eye to anything socially... unaccepted. … youknow she went feral a month or two after the bombs? I lost track of her after a while." Daisy shook away the memory as she tilted her head to look at Rosie as she asked, "...you decided to move on?”

A slow smile twitched at the corners of her niece's mouth before flickering away as fast as it had come, “Yeah.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Yes. ...sorry, I need to go. Get this over with." Rosie gave an amused hum as she picked her jacket up from where it was drying. As she pulled it on she said, "Think I still have to visit someone there as the Silver Shroud. Never thought someone would recognize the outfit to be honest…”

Daisy chuckled. “Kent is probably the last living fan besides yourself. Never did understand what you saw in those comics you collected.”

Rosie paused on her way to the door. Her hand on the cracked wood and chipping paint, the lines of scarring on her hand blending with the wall and leaving it hard to discern where she began and the war shattered wall ended. Some days, it broke Daisy’s heart to see how well her niece seemed to fit in. The the puzzle piece that shouldn't have belonged... but it did.

Her answer carried up from the stairs as she left, “Hope, Aunt Day. Good beats bad. Black and white. I liked them because they were hopeful.”


	29. In The Gardens of Mayhem

* * *

~●-●~  
[Deacon]

 

Deacon had seen his fair share of broken people in the commonwealth. Hands that shook when they held their guns and eyes that held no light inside them. It was a sad thing and also far more common than he’d like to admit.

Yet, people like that didn’t usually press on.

They’d sit in the rubble and stare down the barrel of a gun with absolute acceptance. No teeth bared. No will to carry on. Yet, somehow he was witnessing someone who was broken but refused to stop standing.

But not her.

Even as she refused to give up, he could see the ghost that followed behind her every step.  Sometimes she was that broken person who knelt in the rubble with tears and slumping shoulders. In the moments that she thought no one was looking, that ghost would catch up and she’d bow under the weight. The dark circles under her eyes and metal scrape of the cap to her flask their own tale for how well she handled it. Yet she would stand back up. 

Of course, he couldn’t really blame her if she gave up. He’d dug for the secrets beneath the surface. Scratching at them like they itched. Picking at it the the hair he shaved-- all his snooping revealed was the blood and pain that had been hidden away.

Rosie. He never dared say her name or let on that he knew it-- he respected that at least. She sat talking to Kent, the ghoul who ran the silver shroud radio station, and Deacon couldn’t help but think about all the books he’d read. Not one of the fantastic detective mysteries had held a name or a character with as much life as her. There had been a book he’d found once about gardening though. He’d seen the yellowed pages with pictures of flowers that could no longer ever exist. Roses… roses seemed to come in too many colors. Yellows like the chipping paint on old cabs. Pinks like the clouds at sunset. Reds like blood, fresh and otherwise. Whites like old bones bleached by the sun.

But what type of rose was she? Could she come back to bloom or had those days passed like the rest of the world?

He wondered that question more now. They’d hooked some sort of component to Detective Valentine to watch memories from the recently deceased Kellogg scroll over the screen. Rosie had stiffly agreed to help him bypass some of the blocks-- laying down in one of the memory pods herself. Deacon had seen less stress from her when facing down a behemoth in a radioactive storm. The tension in her frame could have lifted several city blocks.

But in the end they’d gotten a lead.

A lead straight into one of the few places Rosie couldn't easily go. The Glowing Sea. A place with so much radiation that a few hours in it might kill any normal person. It was well known Rosie was far more sensitive so the try and enter was similar to a death sentence.

Still, he knew she’d try.

Rosie stood, hand offered out to shake and though Kent hesitated he eventually accepted. Bright gaping smile as he watched her leave.

Deacon thought for a moment that maybe Rosie was a white rose. Worn down to the hard skeleton that still somehow held beauty. Or silver perhaps, formed from by hand like himself and not grown. All metal and cold as the blade of a knife. Whatever color she’d be, he was sure she was stained in freckled spots with blood and time… but still budding. Still beautiful.

“Deacon,” Rose said with a slight nod as she came to stand in front of him, “Piper is taking the new hire, Cait, to diamond city to get fitted from some proper clothing and armour as well as visit with her sister for a couple days. I’d like to meet the rest of your crew. Speak with Des. Afterwards...” Her sigh was heavy and her hand came up to brush away a loose strand of her hair before she spoke again, “Afterwards, we go see Paladin Danse and ask him why his people are invading the commonwealth--” the peek of her tongue running along her teeth was about as unusual as the feral smile that curved upwards for a brief moment-- “maybe steal one of their vertibirds if they decide to not play nice.”

In that moment, Deacon was reminded about the other curious info about roses-- they almost always had sharp and dangerous thorns.

 

* * *

~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

 

Rosie stood at an annoyed parade rest in front of the older looking woman. The tips of her fingers brushed lightly against the hidden blade she'd installed in her pipboy on the off chance that this meeting went unexpectedly. So far, it seemed fine and she'd spent the majority of her time staring down the railroad's leader. Time had not been kind to Desdemona but she still had fire in her eyes and coils of toned muscle under her arms. Those arms crossed over a rather excessive chest as Desdemonia nodded and looked to the Lab coat covered Dr Carrington who stood beside her. His lips were a thin line of disapproval before he broke the silence, “Well it’s not as if anyone seems to listen to me anyhow. Fine.” His dark brown eyes locked onto the shades that Rosie still wore as he continued in an aggrieved tone, “However, let it be on the record that I think this is a dismal idea.”

The twitch of a smile jerked over the corner of her mouth before she could clamp down on it. One deep breath in and she slowly arched an eyebrow. This doctor wouldn’t be easy to win over. Good. At least someone in this organization had some brains behind all that fragrant desperation. She nodded and unclasped her hands to drag a cigarette from her pocket as Des spoke, “right… so you’ll need a code name. I’ve got a list of suggesti--”

Rosie shook her head and tucked away the matches. The freshly lit cig held by her lips as she interupted, “Blue is fine. Code Blue in your case.”

Desdemona's ginger brows inched upwards, “Code Blue?”

Smoke trickled from Rosie’s nose as she hummed her affirmative, “mmmmhm.”

Carrington’s mouth twisted with a sour smile that was slow to emerge. He’d gotten the joke to some degree. Possible he’d read the term from some old medical novel. With a shake of his head, he said, “Alright, _Blue_ , you want to join you’ll need to be medically cleared by me before you can do any assignments for the organization. Most of the runners are out right now but I’m afraid it won't be very private either way.”

Rosie took a drag from her cigarette and fixed her gaze on Deacon. “That wasn’t part of the arrangement.”

Deacon raised his hands with a shrug where he lingered in the shadows. “Sorry. I don’t make those rules, Boss.”

He’d changed out of the typical odd costume she'd come to expect and into a far more relaxed outfit. Dirty white shirt and surprisingly well fitted pair of ratty old jeans. His smile edged upwards and he licked his lips nervously when she didn’t look away. He gave a nervous chuckle as he broke the silence, “Really? You’re pinning me with that stare. I’m starting to feel like one of those bugs kept in a glass case.”

“Hm,” Rosie hummed before turning back to Carrington, “Doctor, I'd prefer that the exam is private for my own safety's sake.”

Des’ head tipped, small pink tongue poking out briefly before she nodded towards the guard holding a giant gun. “How about Glory join you for protection. I suppose we can ask PAM for her room. ... I'll need to be there as well. Standard procedure.”

Carrington nodded and his look was questioning as he raised a brow at Rosie.

Focusing on the guard, Rosie looked over the woman. She was rail thin beneath the thickly padded coat but she held the gun with an ease that suggested she was all wiry muscle instead of a malnourished waife. White hair stark against dark skin and brown eyes filled with a hefty dose of mistrust. Glory’s eyes narrowed as Rosie looked her over. “The fuck’r you stairing at?”

Another twitch flicked as Rosie’s mouth and she hid it behind another drag from the cigarette as she answered, “A formidable opponent. The jacket does well to make you look unassuming."  With a huff, Rosie looked back towards the railroad leaders, “Remember, I'm joining your cause as an alliance. Where there is _take_ there should be give. _Rendre coup pour coup_. I'm giving quite a lot here. Let us make an agreement-- since you’ve decided to invite everyone I will submit to an exam how and where ever, but in exchange, any salvaged files from the switchboard are mine to read.”

Desdemona's eyes widened a fraction and her eyes ticked towards where Deacon stood in the shadows. It was a small give and her answer was nervous as she spoke, “The switchboard? Deacon mentioned you had an interest in it previously but we’ve gotten the impression it’s not Railroad info you’re looking for."

Rosie simply rolled her eyes behind the safety of her glasses. Yet Des didn't wait for her answer as she turned and shared a glance with Carrington. At his nod, Des relented, "Perhaps… we can come to an arrangement if we learn what you’re looking for.”

"No." Rosie answered as she shifted her weight off her prosthetic leg. The damn thing had been anchy since the last rad storm and she was getting tired of the Railroad's inability to bargain. “For now, that’s my business. If you want, we can still walk away from this agreement...” She left the question open and it lingered in the air like the toxic gas she'd used in vault 88.

Another silent conversation of glances and body language went through the railroad leaders before Des spoke, “Alright. For now we’ll... let that slide. Unfortunately, we didn’t take much from the Switchboard and none of it was from the previous owners. Might have a file or two in PAM's things but that’s it.”

“It will have to do.”

They moved on and into the candle and lantern lit crypt. A jumble of rushed living quarters and rebel operations. It was almost impressive. There wasn’t any trouble with the strip until they asked her to remove the sleeve she kept over her arm. Staring down the doctor she gave a curt refusal. Across the room, Handcock and Nick both waited. Tension evident on both their frames-- waiting to leap up at the first sign she required their help. That or they were both back into speechless la-la land because she was nude. Acres of stretch marks, stiches, scars, and a body that still hadn’t recovered fully from being with child and they still looked at her like she was the moon to their stars.

Deacon sat rigid nearby, his gaze averted and the hint of a blush at his neck. The flushed tone didn’t carry past the thin scar line on his neck where a face change had obviously started.

Carrington tapped her arm as he tried to convince her once again. His tone was doctor warm but authoritative as he spoke, “You’ve obviously got some sort of infection if these marks are anything to go on. It’s best if it gets treated.”

“It is being treated," Rosie said stiffly as she crossed her arms over her bare chest. "I have my own doctor looking into it.”

His flat expression shifted to thinly veiled annoyance as he crossed his arms and matched her posture.

He was settling in to wait.

Minutes ticked by and the others shifted nervously until Rosie relented with a low growl, “You want to know why I’m looking for files? I need to see if I can find a location of a specific lab. It was rumored to be in Lexington. I had hoped it was Switchboard but… it wasn’t.” She rolled down the sleeve band she kept on her arm and dropped her tone as she leaned towards him, “This isn’t something you can treat Doctor. Leave it at that.”

His hand was cold as he touched her arm with a scowl, “…who did this to you?”

She pushed his hand aside and re-settled the sleeve, “People who are long dead now.”

“And how do you explain the leg?”

Rosie snorted as her patience thinned further. “It’s a leg. There. Explained.”

"You are avoiding the question." Des sighed and rubbed at her brow. “It’s a highly advanced prosthetic. No one’s seen anything like it except fro--”

“From the institute.” Rosie sighed and closed her eyes. Apparently she’d have to explain more than she wanted. Opening her eyes, she re-crossed her arms over her chest and suppressed the shiver that threatened to jitter across her muscles as she spoke, “ I was a soldier in the war from over two hundred years ago. I have been in cryostasis in a vault until recently. My leg is from a program created to get soldiers back onto the battlefield after crippling injuries. It, like me, it pre-war.”

Glory snorted, the first sound she'd made since parking herself nearby against one of the crumbling pillars, “Sounds like one of Deacon’s bullshit lies. Still think she's the next Gen of courser.”

Rosie raised a brow and remained silent. Cards on the table-- these were people she needed to trust her even if she wasn’t giving them everything. Still, a lie would probably have been easier to swallow when it came to the real truth. 

Deacon coughed and slid himself into the conversation while still somehow looking away, “Hey, so, she’s not really known for lying. Simply not saying things… yeah. I’ve really yet to see her lie. I've got a good feeling about her Des.”

"You're vouching for her, Deacon?" Des asked slowly as one of her ginger brows arched.

"Yeah... I guess I am."

With his admission, Des and Carrington relented and left to go speak privately. Rosie felt a pleased roll of relief that she’d no longer have to stand nude in the drafty underground crypt because as ‘fun’ as that was, the experience was far more trying that many might think and it was damned cold in that stupid room. After she pulled on her shirt and old ballistic vest that she rarely took off-- a cigarette was offered to her.

“So…” Deacon licked his lips in a surprisingly nervous gesture, “did I just cover a lie or are you really that old?”

Accepting she cig, she took a long drag and leaned down to pull on her boots as she spoke, “Maybe.”

His chuckle hit warm and low in her gut as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Right. ...should have seen that coming.”

Boots finished, she pulled the cigarette from her lips and sat back against the medical table. Being tall always had it’s advantages one her favorite had to be the ability to sit on almost any damn table. Her curse was small toilets but since plumbing was non-existent that really wasn’t part of the equation anymore.

“Maybe. Listen, Deacon, don’t take this wrong, but fuck off.”

“O-kay… did I piss you off somewhere?”

“Yes. Now files-- where are they?”

A new voice spoke up. “Got your files right here new-gal. The sensor sweep says you’re clean, hu-RAY.”

Rosie tilted her head, smoke puffing from her nose as she looked over the new person. Dirty overalls patched together with so many different fabrics and duct tape that he looked like a walking patchwork quilt. The hat he wore was massive. Goggles and a mini handmade satellite of some sort sat high on his head as he grinned down at her. _All he was missing was a crinkled ball of tinfoil_ , she began to think to herself before she spotted said tinfoil poking from the underside of the hat.

“Huh.”

His grin only grew. “Not the chatty type. Alright. I get it. Still, I got the files Des said you wanted. Probably not actually what you _actually_ wanted but I got them.”

“Uh-huuuh,” she answered slowly while taking another drag and looking towards Deacon who still hadn’t moved.

Deacon gave her a half grin with a little shrug. Sighing a cloud of smoke, she pushed off the table and stood. The gangly patchwork man was still taller than her by a few inches and he seemed unperturbed by her attitude. He offered out a hand, “I’m Tom. Tinker Tom.”

She accepted while noting that he was either left handed like her or offering out that hand specifically to get a look at her arm. “Blue. Code Blue.”

“Cool. Cool. Alright, so you know--”

“No.”

He stopped, his hands raised mid animated gesture as he stood stock still. “No… what?”

“No.” She said as she pulled on her holster harness for her pistols. “Whatever you were going to ask. No.”

“Aaaand how did you know I was going to ask? Do you read minds--” he turned to Deacon-- “does she read minds?”

“No,” Rosie answered, “ _she_ doesn’t. However, _she_ is busy and needs to now meet with and harass the Brotherhood. Ask afterwards.”

“The brotherhood?” Desdemonia said as she walked back over with Carrington, “are you… affiliated with them?”

“I’ve had passing dealings with them. I’m hoping to bargain the use of one of their vertibirds and ask why they’re here. Perhaps encourage them to leave,” Rosie answered absently as she checked over her gun.

None of the new guns she’d modified were comparable to Love Tap and losing her old familiar weapon was like losing another limb. That stupid gun had made it through anchorage. It almost didn't make sense that one mutant could destroy it until she remembered that it was well used and had been over two hundred. Tom leaned over and watched, cat like, as she checked the springs on the loading mechanism. This particular gun had jammed more than once and it was a right pain in the ass.

“I could fix that. Or--” he looked up from the gun with a grin, her earlier comments seemingly forgotten-- “I have another gun that might work. You like silenced weapons, right? Oooh, I have just the thing for you. Let's try to get this fixed first.”

He plucked the gun away before she could answer and she was left standing empty handed as she watched him dart off towards his cluttered work area.

Des crossed her arms. “Deacon failed to mention that you had ties with the brotherhood.”

Deacon mimed her angry mom pose and cocked his hip as he spoke, “Hey, in my defence your faith in my all seeing knowledge is both touching and _woefully_ misplaced.”

Rosie ignored them, neglecting to answer and leaving to bicker as she followed Tinker Tom’s path to his workbench. His goggles were pulled down over his eyes and he was humming to the tune of ‘I don't want to set the world on fire’ while using a pair of rubber banded screw drivers to hold something in place. He worked as if the rest of the world had disappeared. A single existence that consisted solely of the work set before him.

It was enviable.

Crossing her arms, she settled into an out of the way spot and watched until someone grabbed around her waist. A glance downwards assigned the arms to Hancock and she allowed the muscles in her back to un-tense as her mind caught up to the fact that she wouldn't need to beat the tar out of whoever was touching her.

“Hey.” His voice was that same rusty growl that she loved and she hummed back.

“Val and I were wondering if you wanted to take a quick nap. You haven’t slept since yesterday before we went to the memory den. ...Hell, I haven’t slept. Not saying I mind. I’ve got stamina to spare buuuut I _could_ use a jet break and a nap...”

Her lips pressed to a thin line as she thought it over. She was tired, yes. Weary and worn seemed to be her constant companions but after the last stint in the memory den she wasn’t sure if she could sleep without nightmares. Still, she’d need sleep if she wanted to be ready to face the brotherhood. Her tongue brushed over her lips, cracked and too dry to be comfortable, before she answered. “Fine. ...we can stop by goodneighbor before heading to see that asshole paladin.”

“Oh? He’s been upgraded from bigoted prick? I must’a missed the memo,” Nick said with a chuckle from nearby.

Thirty minutes later their banter had fallen quiet and Rosie was losing the battle to not fall asleep where she sat with Hancock. He’d convinced her to sit down while they waited for Tom to finish whatever he was doing with her gun. It was strange that she didn’t even really mind him altering her weapon-- when normally she’d be anxious if anyone handled her guns but her. Perhaps she’d taken too many calming agents on her way to meet the Railroad. She’d been twisted up inside so badly from having to see Kellogg’s memories that she’d perhaps been a bit hasty in her choices.

Now those same drugs were doing her the ill favor of calming her just a little too much as she felt herself nod and snap awake again. Hancock was already out, his odd hum-growl of a snore unique to him carried softly from beneath his hat and his head on Nick’s shoulder. Nick was quiet, running another diagnostic to erase any lingering traces of Kellogg from his system. Probably for the best, Rosie was sure she'd been going mad after the old merc's voice has slipped out of the detective's mouth. If the other's hadn't been there to confirm what she'd heard... She might have considered enacting plan seven a little earlier than intended. 

Her tongue ran over her lips again-- she’d given the last of her clean water to the new merc and completely forgot to pick up more while visiting Daisy. It didn’t help that she’d gotten a hair more radiation than was comfortable from the last storm.

Better to not let them know.

Yet it seemed someone did know as a corked bottle of clean water and a RadAway pill was offered down to her. Looking up, she saw Carrington, his stern face still the same angry expression he always seemed to wear. “You have radiation sickness.” He said in a disdainful tone.

She accepted the offering before answering, “I’m aware. It’s likely to only get worse.”

“Oh?” He arched a brow and settled onto the ground as if he’d been invited. “As the railroad’s doctor I should advise against that. ...doubt you’d listen. No one ever seems to.”

“Advise away.” She said while popping the slightly salty tasting pills and downing them with some of the offered water, “but indeed, I probably won't listen. I need to go into the glowing sea.”

“I see… in that case, may I simply ask if insanity is common for you? Or is this a new occurrence?” He asked while cupping his hands under his chin and bracing his elbows on his crossed legs.

He asked the question with such calm reverence that she couldn’t help but laugh. It was probably the pills that made it funny but she was too tired to care. Beside her, she could hear Hancock’s breathing change and she was sure he was awake and just listening.

“ _On n'est point toujours une bête pour l'avoir été quelquefois_ ,” she answered with a shrug before taking another drink from the water. The water held an odd tang-- a tartness that she couldn’t quite identify and she glanced down at the bottle wearily.

“Addictol. In case you were wondering.” Carrington said while gesturing with the fingers of his still-clasped hands, “Another reason I wanted to speak to you privately.”

Rosie lowered and closed the bottle with a frown. Her small burst of mirth faded away almost as quickly as it had come. “That was a very poor mistake to make, doctor.”

“Was it?” He asked with a raised brow that curbed is bored expression into something more dangerous and crafty. “Deacon may have mentioned you’ve been getting worse since he met you. Your addictions read on the scans. I won’t press you to stop but you should know that your readings are… not within a healthy range.”

“Poison presented with good intentions is still poison. I take what I must in order to continue performing at my best.”

“And your best has muscle tremors? Inability to sleep? Irritability? Elevated pulse rate? Perhaps headaches?”

Rosie clenched her hand and tried to remember not to punch the man as she answered in the practiced lie, “the tremors are from nerve damage. It’s hard to not be irritable when people pry and my reasons for not sleeping are my own.”

“I see.” He gave a sigh as he leaned away to grab another bottle and offer it to her, “ _this_ is just water. However, as the railroad’s doctor and by extension, your doctor, I recommend seeking help when you feel ready. Also, as members of the railroad, the beds in the tunnel on the far side are open to all should you need them.”

The doctor unfolded from his seat on the floor and left as quickly as he’d come-- the lingering taste of the pill still on her tongue as she glared after him.

Hancock shifted, pulling his hat off his face and settling it on his lap as he stared at his hands. “He’s right. Probably not my place to say but he’s right.”

She turned her glare towards him slowly. “About?”

“You’ve gotten worse.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

“Com’mon Ro-- ...Blue, You can’t…” he dragged and hand down his face. “Sorry. Nevermind.”

She sighed, leaning her head back against the wall. “...I can’t tell if you telling me means it’s bad or if it just means you’re worried because you care.”

“Probably a mix of both, Doll.” Nick joined in as he absently lit a cigarette. “You’ve always gone to the beat of your own drum but you’ve been different this last week or so.”

She raised a brow and he gave her a small smile before passing over the cigarette and lighting a fresh one. Hancock tapped his own pack as he spoke, “You know you could send us into the glowing sea right? No need to actually go in? Radiation heals me and has no effect on him. It wouldn’t be terribly hard.”

“No. I’m looking for more than just the defector. I need to go in myself.” She chewed at her lower lip with a frown, “I’ve almost finished the modifications to my suit. Between that and the vertibird I should be able to survive. ...Curie should have the next batch ready…”

“Batch?”

Her mind buzzed to a blank when she realized what she had said. Shaking her head, she stood and headed in the direction that Carrington had pointed. “I’m going to get some rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long. I haven't been doing well lately but I'm trying. ♥ I know this chapter is a little lacking but I'm hoping the next one will make up for it. (And that it won't take so long to get out!)
> 
>  
> 
> **Translation-**
> 
>  
> 
>  _On n'est point toujours une bête pour l'avoir été quelquefois_ \-- **Being a fool sometimes does not make one a fool all the time.**


	30. Shadows in the Sunrise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[AUTHOR'S NOTES-- I LIIIIIIIIVE. ...Uh yeah. Hello. Sorry. Yes, I know it's been awhile since I updated. But here! A wild Chapter appears! Also just a warning, this crazy train is going to jump the tracks a little more seriously now. After some debate I decided to toss in some of the old lore and more people from Fallout 3. Personal headcannons. New OCs. The whole mix. So, hold onto your hats and pantyhose folks cause this concoctions about to get _volatile._ ]] 
> 
> **Translations can be found via hovering a mouse over the non-english words or at the End.**

 

* * *

~*R*~  
[Agent Stone Recording]

_January, 7th 2075_

_\--Entry 1--_

_[_ ** _click-HUMMM_** _] Alright and I just… [_ **_scratching thump_ ** _] oh, oh damn it’s already recording. Ah, right. (_ **_clears throat_ ** _) Uh, My name is-- no wait…(_ **_mumbled as if reading off something_ ** _) date, entry then name. Right, January Seventh, Twenty Seventy-Five. Entry 1. This is_ **_\--CHHZT--NAME REDACTED--CHHZT--_ ** _. I have been accepted into project Alpha of the P-V-P project. (_ **_chuckle and speaks softly_ ** _) --that’s a mouthful. (_ **_clears throat_ ** _)  I've been ‘encouraged’ to make regular recordings and have…(_ **_hesitant pause_ ** _) ‘voluntarily’ signed away my name for the safety of the project. This is the last time I’m authorized to use it. I've been re-named and re-ranked. I’m now Agent Rosie Stone. I’m part of a group of ten volunteers. As one of the the assigned leaders, I’ve received files on each person in my group to familiarize myself with the team. From what I can tell- we all come from different walks and factions.... Couple of us are military… (_ **_rustling papers_ ** _) Agent Lyons is a scientist. ...Agent Woods, huh... veterinarian with a specialty in reptiles.  …(_ **_amused humm_ ** _)… Well, so far I don’t know much about the project beyond the fact that it should help win the war. (_ **_barked laugh_ ** _) bout damn time.  I was approached by a General Williams and a scientist from West Tek just after my promotion and given this opportunity. …  Colonel Hayness was less than pleased when I told him that I volunteered for the program. ….of course he was not pleased when I joined the Marines anyhow. Still, told me he was proud though. Disappointed but proud. …I hope this project makes a difference. I want to end this.  Bring home what's left of my family and tribe. This is Major-- ah. (_ **_quietly spoken_ ** _) Not anymore... Uh, Agent Stone, signing off._

~~~~~~~

* * *

~●-●~  
[Deacon]

 

Deacon played the recording again using a pipboy borrowed from Tinker tom’s hoard stash of ‘junk’. Never had he thought the small tape he’d stolen back in Sanctuary would hold such information. Either it was confirming her earlier story or she’d prepared a trail to cover her tracks. It also explained the conversation he’d overheard between her and Valentine. Colonel Hayness. Maybe a relative? ‘ _Bring home what's left of my family and tribe’._ Something to think on perhaps.

Deacon listened once more before pulling out the earbud and ejecting the tape. He could give it to Des, keep it, put it back, or decide later. Decisions, decisions. He shifted in his hiding space while thinking over the options. Carrying it with him always ran the risk of having it be exposed the way it ALMOST was when his damn jacket caught fire. That had been a lucky break when she just put the fire out with her own jacket instead of stripping it off and stomping like he’d seen others do.

That would have ended poorly.

But it hadn’t. A good thing to be sure. Still, carrying it didn’t seem like a good idea with Rosie already angry with him for reasons only she seemed to know. Of course, his not telling her about the strip-standard probably had something to do with it, but he wasn’t terribly sure. In fact, he felt as if he wasn’t terribly sure about anything at the moment.

“Deacon. The hell are you doing?” Glory asked as she sat heavy in the nearby chair with a steaming bowl of… something.

Deacon had a policy to never eat from the community pot that was fired up once a day. Too easy for someone to poison the pot if they got infiltrated. He’d mentioned that of course, but Des waved him off with a _‘if they can poison it  then it’s already too late. Let people have a hot meal. Keeps hope alive._ ’ To which he replied that it kept no one alive if they all got poisoned.  She’d never acknowledged it, but Deacon had noticed that it was only one of the trusted top members who made or served the slop now.

Baby steps.

Deacon unfolded from hiding in the coffin and sat up. Bracing his arms on the side of the stone grave he answered, “Oh, you know, I was wondering how many people could fit in one of these. Like they only bury one person in them usually but--”

“Goddamn it. I’m EATING, Deacon. Fuck. Forget I asked,” Glory interrupted with a huff.

He leaned forward and rested his head on his arm. The action tilted his glasses enough that he knew one eye was probably visible. “... hey. Glory.”

“Hn?” She grunted as she pulled over a tattered old astro magazine that he knew she’d read at least a hundred times by now.

He eyed the magazine and reminded himself that he should try to see if he could find another astrology book for her sometime. Something not too worn.  He pulled out the tape and slid it over to her, “can you keep this safe?”

Glory paused, Spoon halfway to her mouth and face still pointed at the old magazine as her eyes flicked to look at what he held out. “What is it?”

Deacon pulled the pipboy glove out from beside him and gave it a little showy shake. “Wait till we leave. But… don’t give the tape to Des yet. I’ve got more digging to do.”  

Glory scowled before shifting the paper to cover the tape as it slipped onto the table. “Fine. ...I’m telling Des you’re keeping secrets though.”

“I always keep secrets.”

She snorted, a small grin forming as she went back to her soup. “Word of the day-- synodic.”

Deacon shifted and straightened his glasses while thinking over the answer. It was a longstanding game between them. When he was in, she picked a word. If he knew it, he had to tell her the definition. If he didn’t, he had to bullshit like he did. Then, she had to guess if he was bullshitting or not and he had to figure out if she was cheating by picking words that she already knew the definition to.

Strangely enough, he was pretty sure he actually knew this one. Of course, he’d never pass up a change to mess with her. He plastered on a lazy grin as he repeated the word like a child from one of the old recorded spelling bees, “Synodic, S-y-n-o-d-i-c, uh… adjective. Relating to synodicsism; affording or taking a general view of the different subjects of astronomy.”

Glory feigned a yawn before talking around a fresh mouthful of questionable soup. “You forgot. We did this one a month ago.”

Goddamnit. The final part of the game was that she could repeat words to try and catch him. Deacon sunk back into the coffin with a dramatic whine. “Nooooo.”

“Hmmm,” Glory hummed while pretending to think, “What do I want to pick this time?”

“I hate you.”

She chuckled and returned to eating. “I’ll pick a story this time. Looks like you’ve got your hands too full to go on a treasure hunt for me.”

Almost true. Though, with the rate that Rosie stuck her nose into old buildings he actually had begun a pretty good hoard of items in his usual pick-up locations. He’d even had to set up a couple new stashes simply because they’d found so much. However… a story was fine. He rather liked making up stories and Glory always wanted to hear them even if she didn’t always say that.

His voice echoed up strangely in the stone coffin as he spoke from where he lay, “What type?”

This time, he heard her yawn for real. Probably burning the candle at both ends so to speak. He’d have to make sure Carrington reigned in Des from pushing their best heavy too hard. Just because they were synths didn’t mean they could completely neglect their bodies and rather human needs. She sounded worn as she answered, “A Three-Dog one.”

~~~~

Rosie woke from a fitful sleep to find that she was sandwiched between the wall and a shivering Hancock. Cold stone against the Stone who felt just as cold. Humorous on a better day but waking shivering wasn’t her favorite. However, it seemed like she always felt cold so she didn’t mind sacrificing what little of her warmth she had for him. Holding back the involuntary shivers that made her muscles jump like wire cables beneath her skin,  she took her Shroud jacket off and draped it over Hancock. He groaned a soft thanks into his hat as his shivers slowed. Ghouls seemed to run hot but chill easy once they stopped moving. Not enough bodyfat thanks to FEV manipulations.

If only he knew the full truth.

She stood with a sigh as she shook away the thought and looked for Valentine. He was off in a corner talking to a frazzled looking person and taking notes in the small notepad she’d found for him a couple days prior. Busy. She spotted Tinker Tom puttering around but no longer messing with her gun. Decidedly not as busy looking. Rubbing a hand over her aching arm, she headed that way. Passing the guard dog of a woman named Glory, she heard Deacon’s voice drift out of the nearby coffin.

“-- and so there I was, a cat under each arm and Three-Dog with a bullet in his ass draped over my shoulders as I ran. And THAT is how Three-dog earned his name.”

Glory snorted with a small smile before covering a yawn. “I liked that one. You should tell it to Three. He’d get a kick out of it.”

“Pfft. I’m not gonna bother him. He’s retired.”

“Not anymore,” Glory said with a heavy sigh as she shifted the magazine in front of her. “When the switchboard went down he and Lone started up a new station. He runs it a couple times a week. Doesn’t have the equipment to do it like he used to since the Brotherhood took his broadcast tower but...” She faded off with a shrug.

Rosie paused for a moment. It was an interesting name and the information had her curious but she eventually decided to tuck the info away and move on. Upon seeing her, Tinker Tom fluttered in her direction with long limbs and a giant self assured grin.

“You’re gonna LOVE this,” he said as he pulled her over to his workbench.

Now that the calming agents had worn from her system, Rosie was less inclined to agree.

 

* * *

~ʭ@ʭ~  
[Paladin Danse]

 

Paladin Danse stood nervously in front of Elder Maxson. “Yes’sir.”

The Elder, much younger than those who typically wore the title, clasped his hands behind his back as he leveled an intimidating gaze at Danse. It was almost difficult to face such a thing out of his armour but Danse took a deep breath and held himself like someone was holding up a puppet string attached to his spine. For Maxson-- for the Brotherhood-- he’d do anything.

“And this person is... where?” Maxson asked slowly.

“At the Police station we’ve been using as a base sir.  I wished to speak to you in person first. It’s, uh, permission to speak freely sir?”

Maxson’s eyes narrowed before he gave the jerk of his head in acknowledgment.

Danse took another deep breath before speaking, “Frankly speaking, she’s dangerous sir. From the information we’ve gotten and few reports, she’s rumored to at least be part of the minutemen if not leading and rebuilding them. She has ties with major settlements and the ears of prominent people in said places. Truthfully, I have suspicions that she’s from a lost or separated Brotherhood sect or even possibly Enclave thought she’s denied it. I’m not sure of other factions that have the skills she possesses. For example, she built the turret in a shorter time than it takes Scribe Rowyn to dig up designs and she did it while concussed... I--... I included this in my reports but she was able to shut down my armour without any obvious access and I’m ashamed to say she also tossed me in full-suit once, sir.”

Maxson’s thick brow twitched. “ As impressive as that last thing is, I don’t see how that’s uncommon. When doing practice--”

“No sir. **_She_ ** wasn’t wearing armour when she did it.”

Thin lips seemed non-existent on the Elder’s face as he stared quietly at Danse. For a moment, he wondered if he’d gone too far by interrupting the Elder. But Maxson turned away without reprimanding Danse. The tails of his coat fluttered as he stared out over the railing. “I see. ...if she is demonstrating abnormal strength and other such odd features then have you considered that she may be one of these synth abominations?”

“I have. I haven’t found evidence of that yet and she’s assisted my team. I think she would be a worthy Brotherhood member, sir. Or at least an ally.”

Maxson glanced over his shoulder, scowl only barely visible past the black wire bush of a beard. “Tell me, Paladin, do you think it even safe for me to take a meeting with this--” Maxson’s hand loosed itself from his back and waved through the air with obvious annoyance-- “Mysterious R? I would take your council since you are the only person of rank to have met her.”

Danse swallowed and tried to battle the lump in his throat over the honor of having his council matter to Elder Maxson. “Honestly, sir, I don’t know. I believe such a meeting would be dangerous but… as are most things worthwhile.”

A chuckle rolled from Maxson as he turned away to once more look over the world far below. “Aptly put, Paladin. ...I will take this meeting she has requested. However, instead of letting her aboard I think I will put together a team and meet at this station you’ve fortified. I planned to inspect the repairs and location as it were. You may go. Tell this… _citizen_ that I will arrive before the end of the day.”

“Yes’sir.” Danse Said with a nod as he backed away.

Several hours later, Danse stood feeling like an overheated cram can in the sun. The evening rays were beating down unmercifully and he stood on the roof with the others as Maxson and Mystery spoke. Snatches of conversation would occasionally trickle over to him like the sweat that ran in beads down his back.

“-- it would be necessary for--”

“-- workable level--”

“--pleased--”

“--a vertibird.”

“--managed.”

And then Mystery was gone. Leapt from the top of the building like an oversized black crow and strolling away through the ghoul infested town as if there was nothing to worry about besides the heat of the fading day. Maxson stood staring after her, a thoughtful expression crossing his face briefly before he turned and marched to where Danse had been requested to stand.

“Paladin,” Maxson began slowly. His eyes didn’t seem to really look at Danse as the Elder wandered in his own thoughts. “An agreement has been made. For now, you are to assist her.”

Maxson turned to stare after the dwindling shadow that walked along the road. His hands rubbed absently at the old deathclaw injury on his wrist as he continued, “Keep a close eye on her. I want regular reports until we figure out where she’s from and… what she is.”

The Elder’s storm blue eyes focused on Danse as a small smile played on his lips, “I suggest you go catch up. Soldier.”

“Yes’sir!” Danse said with a nod and rapid blink as he realized what had just happened.

Mentally cussing, he took a running leap for the courtyard. The rolling thunder of his landing had a nearby scribe fumbling their welding torch as they yelped. Jumpy big brown eyes stared at him as he unclipped his helmet and put it on with a showy flair. He nodded at one of the other Paladins on patrol before leaving his crater in the crumbling pavement and running for where he’d last seen Mystery.

It took longer to find her than he cared to admit. Eventually, it was the setting sun glinting off the canister that she idly tossed that gained his attention. She stood, back against the wall in the shadows of a nearby building.

“Let’s go over the rules,” she said before tossing him the canister.

He fumbled the catch, the soft tinkle of the metal echoed off the wrecked buildings like a tolling bell. Stooping, he snatched it quickly from the ground as he asked, “Rules?”

She stepped out from the shadow, hands clasped behind her in an eerily similar manner to Elder Maxson. “Rules. Rule one, keep your bigotry to yourself. Rule two, you are for the most part under my command. I don’t expect you to do anything against your… moral code, but if I give you an order you will follow it or you will leave. Is that clear, soldier?”

“Yes, sir. Ma’am. ...No.”

“To which are you ‘no’ing?” She asked while continuing her slow circle around him.

Danse was once more glad that she couldn’t see his face thanks to the helmet. His mouth worked as he tried to keep from arguing that bigotry required her favored companions to be people-- and they weren’t. Yet, self preservation seemed to think that such a comment could end unfavorably so he was instead stuck warring internally.

Her pacing stopped to his shoulder and she leaned in for a moment before stepping back. “Step out of your armour.”

Oh, hell no.

Danse found he had to clear his throat before he could answer, “No. Uh, Ma’am.”

“Your armour isn’t up to spec.” There was a deadly calm to her voice as she spoke and Danse wondered if he’d have to fight her only so many minutes into his newly assigned mission.

“I’m well above Brotherhood standards, Ma’am,” he all but snarled back.

Mystery made a low sound in the back of her throat before turning and marching away through the rubble of the old buildings. Danse stood frozen, unsure if he was meant to follow as she disappeared down the path. Grinding his teeth, he decided that Maxson had given orders to keep a close eye on her and whatever his feelings might be-- he needed to play the game until he had enough information to send back to the brotherhood.

“Goddamn-it,” he muttered as he stomped onto the rubble after her.

He came around the corner to see her carefully shifting large rocks. Rocks that he might have struggled with even in power armour. “Ma’am, may I inquire exactly what it is that you seem to think is wrong with my armour?”

She grunted, hefting a particularly large rock and rolling it upwards to unblock an old doorway before answering, “Two hundred year old power armour and no one seems to know how to fix a coolant valve.”

Mystery dusted her hands as she faced him, “Have you ever shot an enemy’s power core?”

“I have.”

“And how long does it take to register and eject?”

Danse straightened habitually as he recited, “A damaged core will take an average of seven to ten seconds to eject. Upon ejection, a detonat--”

She held up her hand to stop him. His mouth closed slowly and he waited for her to impart whatever odd knowledge she seemed to have, yet she never did. Instead she lit a cigarette, tapped twice on the wall and said, “Defiance, I’m coming in with a guest.”

Well _this_ was certainly news. Danse hadn’t been aware that there had been anything but ferals and raiders in this area of Cambridge. He grimaced as he wondered if perhaps it was a ghoul freak instead. As long as he was gathering information, he’d have to refrain from saying anything but… perhaps he could slip the information to someone else so that they could send a team to clear the area.

Danse’s thoughts stumbled to a stop when he passed through the now open doorway. The room was near perfectly preserved. A two hundred year old workshop with it’s damage repaired by the small bots who wandered it. All bots turned to face him as he angled his armour to step through the doorway. One of the bots closed the door behind him once he passed the threshold. A gentle whirr it’s only sound as it completed the action and wandered away.

“Defiance, this is Paladin Danse. I need to make some repairs to his armour and I’d like to stay the night. May I use a workstation?” Mystery asked a trio of hovering bots.

From the corner, a series of projectors flickered to life. The screens blinked and fuzzed almost dramatically before a variety of cartoon faces was projected over each screen and a voice piped over the speakers. “Sure, sure. Station three is available. Oh, can you look at one of my cores when you’re done? I’ve been getting an error diagnostic but I can’t find anything wrong when I check.”

“Sure.” Mystery gestured at one of the little cubicles, “Danse step into my temporary office.”

He knew she couldn’t see his scowl as he warred with himself. So long of holding out in the police station up the street and a wealth of technology had been right on their doorstep. A part of him wanted to march straight back to the station, vocally refuse to work with the insufferable woman, and tell them about this place. However, there was the matter of the Elder’s trust that he could find information on what and who this woman was and what danger she and whatever organization she worked for was.

Mind made up, he moved to take a step-- only to find his path was blocked.

“Hold, Brotherhood human, I wish to have a word.”

Danse noticed that each word was mouthed by a different screen’s face in an alarming hodgepodge of speech. He glanced to see where Mystery stood, head bowed and soft puff of smoke drifting upwards as she pawed through a box. There seemed to be no intent for her to help him though he knew she had to of heard the machine since the speakers blasted the sound from every angle of the room.

“I--” Danse bit down on the impulse to say that he didn’t take orders from machines. Mystery’s rules had been short and simple and from what he knew of her, that comment would break rule one and he had no desire to see the consequences. Danse took a deep breath before he tried again, “I’m listening.”

“This is our home and now, as per agreement with Professor 404-ERROR NAME REDACTED, this is a safehouse for her as well. We’re aware via your transmissions that your people are nearby. We would like to warn you, that should your people attack this safehouse it would be most… unwise.”

The word ‘unwise’ hissed from a mangy looking cartoon dog head in the corner and Danse noticed that the screen had an eerie red tint that flickered like a dying bulb. Some of the far screens shifted and he glanced something behind the panels that chilled his blood. Assaultron heads, turrets, and guns were rigged behind the movable screens. This room was a verifiable death sentence and the less than subtle threat was not missed.

“Professor 404-ERROR NAME REDACTED was kind enough to assist an upgrade to our systems using part we’ve collected. Please do not make the mistake of thinking that our home is your brotherhood’s to loot as you see fit.” The tilted panels slipped back into place and hid away the certain death behind it once more as it continued in a chipper tone, “Speaking of, Professor 404-ERROR NAME REDACTED took a great deal of our student supplies to assist you and your companions. We’re glad to hear you’ve all recovered. ...you may return your attention to the Professor now. Goodday.”

Danse shakily turned to see Mystery sitting atop the workstation wall with legs stretched out and crossed as she sipped from a can of water.  After the display from the mechanical menace he wondered how she could be so calm. Really, how could anyone be calm in a room that could murder you faster than a fat-man launcher could screw up a group of incoming raiders.

Every step took an almost painful effort as he walked over to her. When he was close enough, she held out a can of purified water. “Step out. We talk. I’ll show you how to fix that valve and why it shouldn’t be in that condition.”

Danse took a deep breath as he complied and triggered the exit sequence. Air hit the sweat on his back. He exhaled through his nose and tried not to panic at feeling exposed next to the nearby death-machine. For a moment, he began to wonder if he could get his hands to actually release the handles when he stepped down. Yet he found himself stepping down, letting go, and turning to face Mystery with the next breath. Military training taking over where personal comforts stopped and he was more than used to doing things beyond his comfort level.

Her hand still offered the water down and he realized now that he could see beads of cold drip down the sides. Taking the can revealed that it was indeed chilled and he grunted with surprise as he tried to say his thanks. Mystery waived off the words like one would wave off an unwanted gnat. “It’s fine, Paladin.”

Danse clutched the can, staring down at it while trying to ignore the prickling feeling on the back of his neck by the faces of the machine he knew lurked behind him. Even through his gloves he could feel how cold the can was and in the dry late November heat he could only imagine how nice cold water would be. He couldn’t help but hold back though, paranoia mixing with fear and a horrible coil of emotions. It all made his stomach into an almost painful knot.

“Hey Defiance? You mind playing one of those old tapes while I work?” At the sound of her voice, Danse jerked out of the spiraling thought void he’d fallen into. Mystery muttered under her breath as she leaned into his armour, “getting sick of listening to those same damn songs on the radio. ...It can’t be THAT hard to get new music… gonna shoot someone if I have to hear that damn bongo song again…”

Defiance gave a pleased hum that set Danse’s teeth on edge as the sound rolled through the room. “Our pleasure to, Professor. You want tape one or two?”

Mystery sat back on her haunches and snagged a rag to wipe her hands while thinking. “Two.”

“You got it, hun.”

Soft music piped in with a guitar being played. An androgynous voice began to croon with a sweet song, “ _Soooo now I am older, than my mother and father. When they had their daughter. Now what does that say about me?_ ”

Danse blinked rapidly as he processed the new music. It was lovely and a little haunting as it sung a soft song that may or may not have been about immortality and death. He stood listening. Relaxing ever so slightly as the music mixed with the sun’s final light as it cast glowing beams through the dustmotes. Mystery seemed for the moment to be content with checking things in the suit and then walking away to rummage through boxes. It wasn’t until he tipped his can and found it empty that he realized he’d been somewhat out of sorts and neglecting to pay attention.

The can was taken, slipped from his hands as Mystery walked by holding a box full of assorted items. Items that the can wordlessly joined as the box was set down.

“Excellent. We can begin. We’ll sleep here for tonight but it would be best if we finished before bed so we can head out in the morning,” she said as she set items out onto the nearby table.

When she finished, she pulled a large chain from the wall and swung it slowly towards the suit. To his surprise, she also reached up and shifted a panel hidden beneath the padding of one of the arms and plugged her pipboy into it. The machine chirped in a series of beeps before she sighed and pulled back to close the back panel. She spoke as she hooked it into the chain and pressed a button on the wall to suspend the suit. “Earlier, you said that a core would take time to heat and eject. Then detonate.” Her hand came up to smack lightly at the core, it popped out and she held it up, “But what if I told you that’s never supposed to happen?”

Danse stared at the core in her hand. “Do you mean it isn’t supposed to eject?”

“Not quite. A core is never meant to explode. The top is a light plating of Tungsten. The secondary layer is a carbon fiber meant to absorb shock and not disrupt the core’s process. There are more layers but generally-- it’s built to NOT explode.”

“But once they overheat, that’s inevitable.” Danse said while crossing his arms.

One of her brows arched up over her glasses. “Indeed. Which is why Power armour was built to cycle off that heat. However, as I said earlier, everyone seems simply divert that function now that their valves need replacement.”

Mystery beckoned him over and pointed at one of the hoses he knew was connected to the internal airflow. “See the crystallization here at the top?”

“Yes. Uh… yes, ma’am.”

She snorted. A rough sound that didn’t seem to fit with the poised figure. “You can drop the ma’ams for now. Just listen and learn.”

 

* * *

~R~  
[Agent Rosie Stone]

 

Rosie stood over Danse’s crouched form. Her usual jacket and overshirt were draped over some boxes and his uniform was stripped down and tied over his waist, revealing a sweat soaked, old tanktop. Though evening has crept in, the room was still bordering on uncomfortably warm and it only got worse on the few occasions that they needed to weld something.  

It was one of the rare occasions that she didn’t feel like she was still a walking popsicle.

They’d spent over an hour fixing up the power armour till she was sure that a stray mutant shot wouldn’t turn the man into a walking bomb. It wasn’t that she really wanted to improve his armour, per-say, but that ultimately she wasn’t willing to travel with someone who could end up getting them both killed because he didn’t know how to maintain a simple cooling function.

Of course, it was nice to teach again too. She’d spent a lot of summers teaching the robotics shop-class before her brother was KIA and she joined the Corps CID. Teaching had been the one job that she wished had lasted longer. Something she’d been happy with. Yet those days were gone. The room only a small preserved memory that had warped towards brutality with time.

She blinked away the memories as she pointed to one of the bolts near the knee of the suit that had registered in the system scan she’d run with her pipboy. “Notice the warping? You’ll need to replace this one before it goes and you get stuck out in the field with what would amount to a bum knee.”

He grunted, wrench in his hand and a screwdriver held between his teeth as he worked with her instructions. After his initial bronko like bucking, he’d managed to fall in line and become almost friendly once they started working on repairing the armour. In another life, she wondered if they could have been friends or perhaps colleges. Then again, perhaps not. He’d likely only stayed quiet due to shock at meeting Defiance and the fact that he seemed to favor holding tools in his mouth. There was a good chance that at any moment he’d slip and say something that would shift her opinion back into deeply desiring to punch him.

Danse worked the screw loose slowly until it stuck, and he gave a tired growl around the screwdriver as he gave another tug. Rosie saw the problem a split second after it was too late to move away. The screw had bent and with his final tug it snapped and his arm jerked back into her side.

An involuntary sound escaped her as she doubled over in pain. The still healing wound from the deathclaw had been stitched and patched but it was indeed still healing.

“Shit! I apologize, that wasn’t-- that shouldn’t-- I… didn’t hit you _that_ hard did I?” Danse blathered and he stood-- hands outstretched as if he was warring with offering to help or not.

“Hnnnng,” Was all Rosie seemed to manage as she lowered to one knee and focused on breathing. In. Out. In.

“You’re bleeding.” Danse said as he moved to she were her arm was curled over her side.

She moved her free hand to ward him off with a wave, “ ‘s fine. Leave me be.”

“The hell with that, Ma’am. Let’s see that wound.”

If she wasn’t in so much pain she might have found his attempt to help endearing. As it was, she was too focused on trying to breathe and not stab him with the freshly sharpened knife in her boot courtesy of Hancock. Danse knelt beside her, worry coloring his honey brown eyes to a dark storm. Lifting her shirt, he glanced at the wound with a whistle. “Deathclaw?”

“Tripped over it. They are surprisingly hard to see when you’re blind.”

One of Defiance’s bots floated over with a med-kit. It snapped open to reveal untouched bandages and pristine medical supplies. Danse only paused momentarily before taking the gloves and pulling them on to keep her wound separate from his grease covered hands. “Been meaning to ask about that. ...guessing now’s the only chance…”

She snorted, the action jerking her side and eliciting a hiss of pain as her wound gave another spike of pain.

 

* * *

~●-●~  
[Deacon]

 

“If you lay down, this’ll be easier.” Danse’s voice drifted over to the hidden room that the group was hiding in.

Deacon kept his hand firmly over Handcock’s mouth with one arm as he restrained the ghoul with the other. Valentine had been nice enough to take the knife away but the second that Danse had elbowed Rosie the ghoul had nearly blown their cover. When he finally felt Hancock’s muscles start to relax, Deacon dropped his hand with a mild mental thank you for Hancock not simply biting him. If he was honest, he probably wouldn't have been as restrained.

The ghoul mayor glared at him as he issued an outraged whisper, “What makes you think--”

Valentine cut Hancock off by flicking the handle of the knife nearly into the ghouls face as he offered it back, “Settle down, John. She’s okay. You know that if she really needed us she’d call or Defiance would act.”

Deacon raised his hands as he rocked back on his haunches, “Sorry.”

It was a simple apology but it seemed to placate the aggravated mayor anyhow.

“...damn...” Rosie’s voice was softened, likely by the Med-X and stimpack that the brotherhood prick had used. “I popped a stitch.” Her soft voiced announcement was coupled with a soft giggle that seemed entirely unlike her.

“Actually,” Danse replied dryly as he pulled out supplies. The rustle carried over the soft music as he worked and spoke, “You popped six. Or I did. It, uh, doesn’t matter.”

“Hnng, it’s fine.” She answered. From where Deacon peeked through the fake mirror wall he could see her hand clutching the paladin’s leg with a grip that likely would leave bruises, but the man remained remarkably silent as he worked.

Rosie’s hair spilled like ink across the floor as it came unpinned and she mumbled to herself, “ _Il était une fois, au milieu d'une forêt épaisse, une petite maison où habitait une jolie petite fille nommée… nommée_ … I don’t remember her name.”

Valentine tucked a knee to his chest. Arm braced over it, he lit a cigarette and spoke softly to the ceiling, “ _Petit chaperon rouge, mon amour. Tout comme toi._ ”

The synth detective handed over his cigarette to a now sulking Hancock. Deacon considered waving away the offer for one as well but the need to do something, _anything_ with his hands and to busy his mind was stronger than his want to keep them free.

“... _Bien entendu, je ne me souviens pas non plus de mon vrai nom. ...Je ne peux me rappeler mon nom._ ”

Whatever it was that she said had Valentine turning. Yellow eyes staring where she lay as she babbled softly in different languages that never seemed to stay the same.  

“I hate when she does that,” Hancock grumbled while taking out his sharpening stone and working over his already deadly sharp knife.

“It’s an old tactic,” Valentine said as he turned away from the scene in the next room. “Knew a few soldiers who used it when they knew they tended to babble when they got certain meds in them. Learn enough languages and recite old children's tales. ...part of why old nick learned french.  Well, that and it impressed girls.”

Hancock chuckled as he put the stone away and checked over his knife’s edge with a scarred thumb. “Like you need _help_ doing that.”

Deacon, for a very brief moment considered not asking. However, being fidgety in a small space while nervously watching someone he heartily admired get stitched by a person Deacon definitely _didn’t_ trust… the combined forces seemed like it was prime for bad decisions.

“So… are you three involved?”

Valentines’ yellow eyes focused somewhere on the ground while Hancock leaned forward. A puff of smoke rolled almost menacingly towards Deacon as the ghoul spoke, “Don’t see how that’s your business.”

Deacon raised his hands, cigarette still dangling from his own lips as he spoke, “Just askin. Little room, very bored. You get the issue.”

“Intel gathering? Or personal?” Valentine asked as his free hand toyed with the pack of smokes.

Shrugging, Deacon answered, “both, maybe?”

The detective chuckled with a sound that came out somewhere between _neh_ and _meh_ but Deacon couldn’t decide if that was an answer or just part of the synth’s laugh. Hancock on the other hand, seemed to be edging more towards murderous so Deacon decided to do what he was best at and change the subject. “So, uh, I ever tell the story of how I started the railroad?”

Valentine didn’t take the bait as he set his own verbal card on the table, “I ever tell you about the time I met a courser?”

Deacon’s mouth snapped shut as the yellow gaze bore past his shades and seemingly into his core. If the detective was actually hinting at something Deacon wasn’t sure but he wasn’t entirely sure where this conversation was heading. When the silence lingered too long, Hancock stood with a grunt. “Keep an eye on her. I’m gonna go secure the area.”

“Use the emergency band if you get into trouble,” Valentine said with a calm nod as he flicked ash away.

For once, Deacon wasn’t sure he wanted to be left alone with the other synth.

More-so when that synth seemed to know secrets that no one besides Deacon knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (can also be found via hovering a mouse over the non-english words):  
>  **Il était une fois, au milieu d'une forêt épaisse, une petite maison où habitait une jolie petite fille nommée…** = Once upon a time, in the middle of a dense forest, there was a small house, where lived a pretty little girl named... named....  
>  **Petit chaperon rouge, mon amour. Tout comme toi.** = Little red riding hood, my love. Just like you.  
>  **...Bien entendu, je ne me souviens pas non plus de mon vrai nom. ...Je ne peux me rappeler mon nom.** = Of course, I don't remember my real name either. ...I can't remember my name.


	31. Big, Green, and Mean

* * *

 

~ʭ@ʭ~

[Paladin Danse]

Wading into a pit of green muscle-monsters was an average day as far as Danse was concerned and he bared his teeth with a defiant snarl as his suit was peppered with sprays of bullets from the mutants they were attempting to clear. Or really, that ‘he’ was attempting to clear. Where Mystery had gone, he wasn’t entirely sure but she’d asked him to distract the mutants in the front and that’s what he was doing even if he was pretty sure he’d just agreed to his own death.

But then he heard it.

The crack of a gun. A .44 if he had to make a guess over the bullet on metal symphony but it could be a different make. Other guns joined in next-- advancing forward as the mutants were pushed back. Then, the crescendo-- as the mutants were pushed back there was a chain of explosions. They shook the ground. Shuddered in the air. Rained debris and blood over the ruins as the last of the mutants were decimated.  Turning, Danse expected to thank his helpers but found there was nothing and no-one nearby except a quickly disappearing grey hat. Yet there was no time to contemplate that as another rumble shuddered over the ground. It hit and rolled like a pounding drum. As a behemoth rumbled into view, Mystery broke from her hiding place that was closer to the brute and charged it dead on. She fired upwards into it’s face as she ran and it stumbled in it’s once steady steps. 

No amount of running could get Danse close enough as he charged forward and braced himself for seeing the inevitable death of the woman he’d began to grudgingly respect after her lessons on repairing armour and their short time of traveling together. Instead he watched, equal parts terror, horror, and fascination as she slid up to and between the legs of the behemoth. Blood sprayed a crimson rain as the beast fell to one knee-- hamstrung by a wicked looking knife seemingly pulled from thin air. 

Danse’s own footsteps were the drum now as he charged up the road towards where the monster knelt. Yet another crack of a gun and the beast slumped-- the remains of it’s lowered cognitive functions spread across the wall of the nearby ruins. This time the wielder didn’t disappear. A few of Mystery’s loyal followers emerged like guilty pets from the ruins. They slunk out like rats from the trash and Danse held his breath at he and the ghoul made eye contact through his suit. 

_Tch_. To owe his life to a ghoul or synth. 

The last to emerge was a new one. The man wore a floppy widebrim hat, scarf obscuring his face behind glasses remarkably similar to Mystery’s and a patched outfit that made him look like any other scavver you might run into. What didn’t look very scavver-like was the well cleaned and maintained rifle. Like all the groups guns it was obvious that they were both well used and well cared for. No more ducttaped stocks or cracking wood-- these almost looked new.

“Nick shot, Nick,” Mystery said as she hefted herself over a leg of the now cooling corpse. 

The synth shook his head and looked towards the new man with the rifle as he spoke, “Wasn’t me.” 

The new guy shook his head as well, slipping the rifle into a sewn holster on his back. “Not me. I was aiming for the other leg.”

Everyone looked towards the ghoul who was lighting a cigarette with a free hand. He looked between them and held up his shotgun. “You think this could do that? I’m good, doll, not that good.”

Mystery’s lips twisted and she walked towards where the shot must have come from judging by the angle of the splatter. Her head tilted to and fro as if she looked for something before she huffed and squatted down. The synth wandered over to her. “Something you’re looking for?”

“Shell casing.”

It simply hummed in response before plucking something from the ground and handed it to her. “Don’t recognize the type.”

“... hm.”

The synth glanced towards Danse before asking something so quietly that he couldn’t hear. She shook her head. “Later. Fall back into position. The paladin and I will secure the building.”

“You really sure about securing a bunch of nukes for…  _ them _ ?” Hancock asked while holstering his shotgun.

Danse didn’t really have to stretch his imagination to wonder who ‘them’ was since the animosity seemed to come from both sides. Seemed her little group disliked him as much as he them. Mystery pocketed the shell as she walked off. “Part of the deal, John.”

The ghoul huffed before walking back off towards the ruins with the others. 

Shrugging off his annoyance that she had obviously had the others following them without his knowing, Danse stomped after her. 

The building wasn’t very difficult to clear now that those outside were dealt with. Six mutants and a hound was all that was left. Mystery’s aim was true. Quick. She slunk in the shadows like a ghost as he tromped and trundled around. He’d never felt clunky or clumsy in armour before working with her but he was quickly starting to feel like little more than a noisy distraction. Eventually the building was clear and they stood inside the lower rooms of crates. 

Tester ‘nukes’. 

They weren’t actually atom bombs. Just enough explosives to weigh the right amount in the ancient past when they’d been trying to perfect the Fat Man device. Every empty rocket shell made a new bitter taste spring into Danse’s throat as he examined it all. Aside from the benefit of clearing more disgusting mutants from the world, this mission was ultimately a failure.

Except… Mystery stood over some papers pulled from a drawer that she’d been going through while he checked the crates. As she read, her expression melted to something intent and she mouthed words as she read. Danse wandered over, glancing at the pages to see that the language was not english, latin, or anything he could really comprehend or identify. “What’s that?”

A frown now creased her brow as she mumbled some words aloud as she flipped to the next page. 

“Ma’am?” he prompted again while toying with the notion of removing his helmet.

She shook her head and picked up the folder as she finally answered, “Not sure. If your people find more of this--” her finger tapped the folder before she tucked it away into a pocket on her leg-- “I’d like to see it to translate.”

“You can read that?”

“Some. It’s appears to be code in several different languages.”

“And what’s it say?”

She shook her head as she headed for the stairs --as she’d refused to use the elevator-- and said, “I don’t know. It’s in code.”

“But I thought you said you could read it,” argued Danse as he started the long trek up the far-too-many flights of stairs.

“Being able to read it and being able to comprehend it are two different matters. It is like Frankenstein and Frankenstein. One is a monster and one was created by a monster-- alike, they are not.”

Danse mulled over that as he huffed up another flight. Stairs in power armour were difficult on a good day but he was admittedly getting a little worn from the solid march and several battles that honestly might be worthy of the history archives. It seemed silly to be tired when he’d gotten several nights of relatively good rest-- he’d even gotten sleep after putting in some fresh stitches to the wound that graced Mystery’s side.

A new pang of guilt hit him as he remembered the incident. He’d gotten tired and frustrated. The result, of course, had been breaking the screw instead of gently working it out like he should have. It was a cadet move. The rest had just been bad luck that she’d been close enough for his elbow to make connection to a wound he wasn’t aware of. Of course…

He  focused his gaze on her as she slowly made her own way up the stairs above him. She didn’t quite move like someone with stitches in her side. At least, not like he would have moved. Yet she took the stairs as a slow and steady pace-- face locked in a flat expression that could easily be hiding pain-- and he noticed a slight stiffness to how she held that side. It had to hurt like a son-of-ah but she’d never complained. 

Or had she?

Perhaps complaints didn’t come with active vocalizing. He’d seen her flex her hand, shaking it out after using it to brace a shot. It was a small gesture but could have easily been her own shout of pain. A silent ow. The realization made her seem more human. 

 

* * *

~/_\~ 

[Hancock]

Hancock leaned against Nick’s shoulder with a sigh as he and Deacon traded off the second to last bottle of water. Nick was toying with a second shell casing that they’d found, yellow eyes thoughtful as they lazed and listened for any nearby activity. 

The building had been silent after Rosie and her tin-can companion disappeared into it and now it was quickly becoming a lazy and boring afternoon. Of course he  _ could _ try to do some scavenging in the ruins of the houses that littered the small strip of land but that just seemed like too much effort after following behind Rosie’s breakneck pace over the last couple days.  

Deacon handed back the bottle with a hum as he stood, stretching his arms over his head with audible pops. “I’m gonna scout and see if there’s anything good around. If I keep sitting I’m gonna fall asleep.”

Nick hummed, not looking up as he spoke. “If you need some shut-eye I suggest you get it now.”

A lingering ‘eh’ sound accompanied Deacon as he wandered off. He’d been, for lack of a better word, skittish and wary since the night hidden away in Defiance’s spare room. The mention of a courser had an effect on the man but Hancock hadn’t really pinpointed the where or why’s. As Rosie was fond of saying to people he’d likely ‘suss it out’ eventually. After all, he didn’t become mayor by force alone-- though force had been part of it. 

Shifting against Nick to try and get more comfortable, Hancock put it out of his mind and focused on enjoying the warmth of the day. The colder months would start creeping in after december and he was determined to enjoy what he could before being absolutely miserable. Though… this was going to be his first winter with partners-- assuming they all lived that long-- and that might change his opinion of the colder months. 

Nick shifted, draping his arm over Hancock’s shoulder in a familiar and comfortable manner. It was rare that they had moments like this but Hancock hoped that Nick knew how he enjoyed it. They’d all talked of course. Who wanted what. Who didn’t want. What people needed or thought. It wasn’t as open as Hancock wanted with Rosie but he and Nick had settled into a comfortable rhythm of checking in with each other. Together or not-- he’d started to realize that this wasn’t just lust or loneliness coming to a desperate head. 

He’d  _ really _ realized it when Danse hand elbowed Rosie the previous night. After Nick had gotten him initially calmed down he’d wandered out and over to the a nearby building. Lighting a cig, he’d tried to shove intrusive thoughts aside as he watched a feral ghoul scratch it’s ass nearby and wander around. Most humans didn’t know how very ‘human’ most ferals acted when it was only ghouls around. Sometimes it was a little more like wild dogs when something riled them but most of the time they’d shuffle around in old patterns. Pretend to shop. Wank. Lick the wall. There wasn’t really anything left up top in the rotted brains but sometimes you had to wonder how much was gone. And sometimes you had to wonder if it was just a complete lack of fucks.

Still, he’d sat in that room with the other ghouls. Returning those terrible intrusive thoughts while also realizing that the coil in his gut-- the butterflies and bad molerat type of feeling-- that started whenever it came to things about Rosie. It wasn’t just feeling like he might go feral and tear apart the brotherhood bastard for hurting her. It was little things like when she smiled. When she was really nervous, she’d fuss with her hair. When she’d drop a few paces behind the others to walk with Hancock and she’d bump her shoulder against his with a small nod as if to reassure him that she cared. 

She cared right?

Damn.

Hancock slowly moved his hand to clutch at Nicks. If the synth minded or had an opinion on the matter he didn’t say, so Hancock laced his fingers and stared out at the nearby waves. Another hour and things would start to chill this close to the water. The sun would start it’s final dip into the west and disappear beneath the waves. Yet, he had all the while to think over things like fucking  _ FEELINGS _ . 

Jet was always an option if he wanted to stop thinking for a while. Or Mentats. Or both if he wanted to examine the small grooves and flat lines of his remaining fingernails. However, he was low on almost everything and Nick didn’t care to sit with him when he was tripping. Never asked him to stop-- thank fuck-- but also didn’t want to be near it. Damn shame though because Hancock fucking loved cuddling after a hit of jet. You didn't have to move, just...enjoy. It helped that jet also eased the natural aches that came with being a ghoul. 

Psycho was another matter though.

That one… he was always of two minds on. If you timed it right just before a fight it felt like fucking SEX. Power. Power. POWER. A wild heartbeat that was just shy of erratic. Thrill. A hardon that twitched with every gunshot like it was giving it’s own appreciative applause.  But, if you took it with nothing to occupy you it was fucking AWFUL. He’d done it twice. The first time out of boredom and the second time thinking he’d done it wrong. The answer was nope. Ghouls don’t really sweat like he’d been able to when he was human. No. Instead you feel damp like it suddenly became a muggy day under your skin. Your brain would scream like one of those old kettles and your chest would feel like it was going to explode as you mentally panicked. 

Not great. 

So Hancock settled on wishing for a something to drink as he dug for and lit a cig with his free hand.

“Got a spare?” Nick asked shifting against him and noticeably giving a small squeeze of their interlocked fingers that sent Hancock back into a tangled tumble of feelings as he realized that he appreciated-- cared for-- Nick as much as Rosie.

Wordlessly he offered his already lit one. When taken, he tapped the pack on his thigh and lipped a new one. 

“You’ve been quiet.” Nick said as he finally tucked away the casing.

_ Just thinking about how I maybe fucking love you both so much it hurts, _ Hancock thought as he puffed a roll of smoke. Instead he asked, “Any idea on the casing?”

Nick shifted, leaning into him. “Some. I’ve seen them before. Pet project really. I’ll know more once I get back and check the file. ...a little odd though.”

Hancock thumbed his cig, dropping ash over the dirt between his legs as he asked, “How so?”

“Hasn’t been a sighting in…” Nick paused with a hum as he thought, “ten years? Might have been more. I’ve gotten wind of a few sightings on the west coast but I assumed it was a copycat. Honestly thought they'd died.”

Hancock tipped his head back, huffing smoke from his nasal passage and enjoying the slight sting it caused at he leveled an awkward glare at Nick. “Are you being elusive and cryptic on fucking purpose?”

Nick chuckled and did the unexpected. Tightening his arm, he pulled Hancock in and placed a chaste and gentle kiss near his temple. Hancock mentally reeled a little as he fell headfirst back into that tidepool of emotions. He remembered Nick mentioning that ‘Old Nick’ had been bi but so far there had been no real advances and Nick had mentioned not really having any sexual needs to drive him. Sitting together, chatting, and general companionship had been easy between them as they had an old friendship since the synths days in goodneighbor but this was a new step and… he liked it. 

“Not on purpose. Just thinking aloud at this point.” Nick answered with a slight grin as he tilted his head back to watching the water. “Old stories about a mysterious stranger who rescues people at random. Comes and goes as he pleases with sightings stretching back as far as just after the bombs dropped. ...actually thought it might be Rose when she put on that big jacket she's got. Ruled that out though.”

Hancock hummed rubbing his thumb along the dry synthetic skin of Nick’s hand and trying to puzzle out his feelings while following the conversation. “So you think this mysterious person is following us? Or just passing by?”

“Seems an odd place to be passing by,” Nick answered before flicking his own cig's ash. 

“Think Deacon knows them?” Hancock said, twisting to try and see the other party member. Deacon was a ways off pawing through something in one of the collapsed houses instead of participating in some clandestine meeting with an elusive stalker. 

“That’s a thought. ...never know with him.”

Hancock chuckled before finishing off his cig and closing his eyes-- giving up on thinking. A nap sounded like a fucking great idea while they waited. They fell into easy silence as the afternoon ticked on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for being patient! I've been trying to write out an actual outline to try and chip away some of the writer's block so I've got fingers crossed that the updates will be more frequent. We're starting to delve into the relationships a bit some I'm going to be straying further into the AU territory soon as I start tying in the other games. :) Love yall and thanks for reading!


	32. Catching Smoke in Bare Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruh-roh, _feelings_.  
>  Dun Dun Duuuuun

* * *

~ ??? ~  
[Mysterious Stranger]

 

He lingered in the shadows where he was sure they couldn’t see him. Watching. Waiting. There wasn’t much that caught his interest in the 'today' beyond assisting someone who drew his favor but this… this was different. He’d heard the rumors of the Silver Shroud. A demon in a black coat putting the fear into the evils of the wastes. Little to no survivors when it came to raiders and the like but a gentle hand was offered to those who lay down arms or chose to join her. People called the figure by different names. Miss Mystery. The Silver Shroud. Lady Blue.

But one name caught his interest as he asked around.

Miss Stone.

Like following a string to the lost ball of yarn, he caught the trail and held on tight. Lingering in the shadows as she stitched together the wastes with carefully aimed shots and clever ideas. He himself had given up on ever seeing the land truly heal-- content to hope that the status quo might even out like the gentle rhythm of a heartbeat. Perhaps a heartbeat that would finally slow and fade as it bled out from the wounds carved into the land. One more dying soldier.  

And like a soldier that should have died, she hadn’t aged a day from the old bloody photograph that was tucked into a pocket of his coat. Yet her freckled brown skin now had scars that weren’t present in the photo and in the time he’d been following she’d never shown those dark grey eyes that stared sternly in an expression locked in fading colors. Was it her? Or was it a ghost come to haunt the dead and dying world?

He took a seat against an old and crumbling wall far enough from their fire, sentry, and camp as not to be seen but still able to watch and listen as the sounds carried over the quiet night. He held a stealthboy in one hand, ready to be flicked on at a moment’s notice, while the other dug for the photo. Being what he was, the dark was no hindrance. More like an old friend really and he could see the image as if it was simply a cloudy day. She hadn’t smiled for the picture. Not sure any of them could have after all that had been done. 

The photo was scratched. Blood spattered across the edges and it had crinkled with age. He’d lost the other photos as time went on and the edges to this one were burnt in the fire that stole his few possessions. Little names signed on the back. Stains that lingered in time. Silent cries of ‘I was here’ when it no longer mattered. So few of them were alive. 

He’d seen Edward though. Agent Hunt once, now, Edward Deegan. They visited every now and then when he passed through. A quick hello before returning to their lives. Guarding. Wandering.  Trying to fit into a world that was nothing like the skeletal remains that littered the waste. Nothing like they remembered.  

Agent Maxon and Lyons had died so many years back. The lingering remnants of their legacies called themselves the brotherhood and thundered around the capital wasteland with quickly fading morals and lofty sensibilities. Another few years and they’d be little more than well learned and well armed raiders. Just one more enemy. Corroded metal in the acid rain. Casualties of the war finally bleeding their final patriotic color just as the enclave had. 

 

* * *

~R~

[Agent Rosie Stone]  

 

Rosie sat at the edges of the fire. The casing rolled between her fingers and she stared out at the foggy darkness. Part of the blur was her eyes and the other part was actual fog as it rolled in from the nearby coast. It came thick and cloudlike over some areas. Settling heavy over the curves of the land like the uneven and lumpy blanket that she kept tucked away in Sanctuary for the nights that she slept there. Yet her mind wasn’t on the scenery. Not quite. Instead, she thought about the last few days.

She’d struck a deal with the devil and now it looked like there were also ghosts coming back to haunt her. This new ghost wasn’t like the brotherhood who was a pale ghost of ‘soldiers serving’ anyhow. She’d heard from Danse that Maxon was indeed related to a ‘pre-war’ Maxon. Though he didn’t know it, she suspected it was a Maxon she’d known. Agent Maxon and Agent Lyons had sent her a smuggled file with an audio recording just a week before the veteran's dinner. In it was information on the Mariposa Military base and how some scientists had changed what once was PVP into the FEV that curdled the wastes like sour milk. 

The file still sat in the safe… one more thing she’d likely have to burn or make sure she found a better hiding place for. Perhaps she could be truly ironic and move all the files to the veterans hall. In her last pass through the town she’d seen the old building was still standing. Sometimes her brain still struggled with remembering that it had been over two hundred years since she’d been convinced to give a speech there.

_ War. War never changes.  _ She’d had the speech written out. Most of it was just PR marketing by the Wounded Soldiers Initiative. Just one more part of her agreement in exchange for the leg and the ability to walk and look normal at a glance. At the time she’d wanted that leg more than anything. To get back up and return to the fight. She was sure that that was something implanted from the Alpha Program-- a desire to keep serving even when you were reduced to little more than a crawl. Yet she’d agreed to being mentally reprogrammed-- being experimented on-- all in the hopes that it would end the war. In the hopes it might bring people home. That her mother could find hope and her cousin could find a future. So that her aunt didn’t have to fear the drafting laws changing again and her loosing her only child.

Of course, Rosie had never anticipated Nate or the pregnancy. 

Never anticipated Bishop or the world ending.

Standing, she gave a nod to Nick who stood on watch at the other side of the camp before she paced off into the darkness. She had the flare if she needed help beyond her own skill but that was unlikely.  Even dark, the world held little to no surprises. Too much training. Too many ‘enhancements’. Too many things that edged her farther from human and closer to monster. Things that she was determined not to dwell on just yet. 

The casing was cool in her hand as she paced into the ruins. Snuffling to her left-- likely a sleeping animal. Ghoul dogs likely. They seemed common in this area. Were ghoul dogs like the other ghouls? Were some of them 200 years loyal and waiting for a master that might never come home? Were they feral as the isotope over accelerated the tissues into cannibalizing the soft tissue like someone on a fad diet gone too far?

It was a pity.

FEV. 

If she and the others hadn’t volunteered. If they all hadn’t been so damn  _ desperate _ … perhaps all this wouldn’t have happened. But they had been and the desperation hadn’t stopped with project alpha. No, it had continued into territories that went beyond too far-- as if alpha haddn’t skirted that-- and right into a perfect reason for the country to bomb itself.

Pulling the file she’d found earlier from her pocket, she stared down at it. With all the information she’d been collecting she’d begun to suspect… but this was the first real proof that there had been more behind the bombings than someone across the sea pressing a button. With this information she also now had a new trail to follow if she dared.

The file had suggested that a splinter cell-- a combination of both factions-- had found out what each side was doing to achieve their means. No longer was the war advancements things like  ‘submarines and tanks’ to forward the winning side. No. Desperation had turned to breeding, injecting, and manipulating the soldiers themselves… and possibly others. 

She had four locations and the burning question of if she should pursue her lead into the glowing sea to find a son that was nearly a decade past knowing her or the truth on how the world ended… and how she might stop her own demise. A decision had to be made but the biggest question was which to choose with what little time Curie had estimated she had.

Rosie settled onto the crumbling ruins of what had once been a house. Half the table was oddly preserved. The varnish still almost glossy except where the body had decayed over it and the bones and dried flesh remained. Wheelchair bound, a monitor to the side of the dead figure and a cracked plate that had perhaps 200 years ago been full of food but it had long since wasted away-- had they been another veteran? Or just ailing? Stuck to one spot and never recovered. Was it the EMP from the bombs that killed them or something else?

Did it matter? 

Taking a match, she lit it under the paper of the file and watched as it as the words blackened before a hole appeared and flames began to lick in earnest. She didn’t need to read it again-- just needed time to puzzle it out. The paladin hadn’t noticed her scanning each page into her pipboy and most of this information couldn’t fall into that bigoted organization’s hands. 

Though… perhaps they already knew? Perhaps that was why they crusaded against the FEV victims and hoarded information and technology? Yet that would make them as bad at the previous government--the desperation that had caused a cancerous lack of morals to grow beneath the surface and the resulting virus that the land was now plagued with. 

As she watched the file slowly turn to ashes that matched that land, she wondered if her actions were based on training-- re-programming as the Alpha program had called it-- or if it truly was part of her personal quest to right the wrongs. Was she the hero in this story… or the well meaning villain?

Once again, she wondered if she’d be able to tell the difference.

Kicking the ashes halfheartedly to get them to blend in with the rubble, her mind instead turned once more to the shell casing that was tucked in her pocket. Having an unknown following them was bad news and she’d been mistaking their gunfire for Nick’s. Now that she knew it wasn’t though… 

This person had been following them for far longer than she was comfortable with. There were a handful of occasions that she had heard the distinctive gun. It had the same powerful crack as Nick’s modified .44 pistol but there was a reverb afterwards that differed and she was angry that she hadn’t picked up on it till now. Small things can bring big mistakes.

Closing her eyes she dug for a cigarette while listening to the surroundings as if hoping to hear the person who’d been following. Unlike Deacon they didn’t rely on eyes to confuse those they followed. That made them dangerous. Worse, she’d found no discernible tracks besides the few shell casings. 

The smoke curled in the evening air as she tried to calm enough to rest for the evening. Yet the latest discovery seemed to linger and cling to her, keying her nerves to a tight string even as the nicotine caressed her system. With the want to calm down came her next issue-- the drugs.  She’d been using them out of broken desperation like a broken man trying to use a string to climb out of a hole. Just like the string they wouldn’t hold her and she’d eventually tumble back into that pit… but the alternative…

Crunching footsteps in a sure but even rhythm let her know that John was walking towards her. The way he favored his left knee gave his steps a nice pattern. Dicernable. Did he know or was it just once more thing her trained mind had labeled and tucked away?

“R-- ...uh, Mystery?”

The snuffling nearby stopped and there was a pad of feet as the animal moved. Careful to keep track of the animal, Rosie answered, “Here, John.”

“Ah. Val said you went this way. Something up?” John asked as he eased into view, skirting the rubble with ease. 

“Just thinking,” She said as honestly as possible, the cigarette now taking her building stress as she rolled it between her fingers.

Did he know how she felt? One more problem to solve but she struggled with this one as much as the others. Training had stripped her of HER and though Bishop and even Nate had begun to tear down those walls… she knew she was about as forthcoming as her name suggested. 

“Ah. ...Want me to go?”

Once again he was tip-toeing around her and she struggled with wanting to just ask for just a few minutes of sitting alone with him. In this world they were all feral dogs struggling to get close to each other. Perhaps… it didn’t help that she was more feral than most though the calm exterior tended to hide it. 

Rosie shook her head. “No.”

Other words lingered like the taste of the stale cigarette on her tongue but they refused to come out. Lately she’d been trying-- and failing-- to shrug off the training but still her voice would betray her. Drying up like a well her words always seemed lost as she had to hope that they understood. 

John seemed to handle it well though. His typical calm was as much of a facade as hers but he wore it well. She watched as he settled onto some of the nearby rubble, legs crossed and shotgun across his lap in case of danger, and lit a cigarette of his own. 

“Think it’s safe for you an I to have a chat?” He asked, tucking away the box of matches marked with the old state house logo. 

Rosie shifted, angling her chin to whatever direction she’d heard the animal and hoping that his rather impressive night-vision would see her movement. “Animal nearby but should be clear.”

He nodded, smoke curling from his nostril holes. “Rose, I’m gonna be honest, what are we?”

Well damn. Did he mean physically? Did he suspect more about FEV and project alpha than she’d given him credit for? Or… was he talking about something else? Their relationship? ...Had she not been clear?

He seemed to mistake her silence for an answer and she could see the outline of his shoulders droop. “Ah. I get it. ...that’s fine I guess.”

Rosie shook her head, fighting to find the words. “No. I… I’m not sure I understand the question.”

“Us. You, me, Val-- what are we? Fuck buddies? The odd fling? I know it’s not the best time to ask but… I think I need to know where we stand.”

She opened her mouth and words once more stuck like dry pills in her throat. It was an effort to climb the mental wall and the silence lingered as she battled herself.

“I could say,” she ground out eventually, “that I would die for you. ...but that does not seem to mean much when I swore and oath to put my life on the line for country and fellow man.”

Pausing, Rosie tried to scavenge together enough words to express what she wanted to say. John, bless him, seemed content to simply listen and eventually she said, “When I asked you and Nick to be with me, to be in a relationship-- albeit an open one-- it was not asked without feelings.”

“So,” as he spoke, Hancock toyed with a loose flap of duct tape from a recent emergency patch job on the handle of his shotgun, “I guess what I need to ask is what does a relationship mean to someone pre-war?”

_ So, so many things _ , Rosie thought wryly to herself.   _ But to me… it means more _ . Why did it feel like someone was strangling her whenever it came to trying to speak of something so simple?  She dropped her gaze to her hand and watched the foggy orange glow of her cigarette as she rolled it. “John, I… am not… good.”

At her pause John gave a derisive snort. “You’re talkin to the mayor of  _ Goodneightbor _ . We’re the presidential club of ‘not good’--”

That hadn’t been her full meaning but before either of them could finish or clarify there was a growl as the nearby creature finally decided they’d been intruding on its territory for too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ **Author rambling** : _First of all_ let me just say that the comments y'all have left have honestly given me life and with some recent real-life stuff-- the support has been one of the few things keeping me going. Secondly... I'm sorry these all have been so short but I hope they satisfy. Also... I'm only mildly sorry about the cliffhanger endings but we are slowly climbing this roller coaster and getting to the point where we can all ride screaming to the fantastic end. Right? right. I hope. Anyhow, I keep saying it but from here on out we're going to just be wandering farther away from ?canon? (and I say ?canon? because even the fallout verse tends to get it's own canon crap confused) and tying in some fun stuff. Wild wild wasteland GO!  
> ...  
>  Honestly I have no clue what I'm saying. It's now almost 7am and I haven't slept.  
> Oh, also, shout out of love to _cherryblossomaxire_ on tumblr for the fan art (I'm sorry for not linking it here T_T I meant to save a link somewhere easy for me to get to and I somehow failed to but if you wanna link it in the comments below you totally can) I was super delighted and my partner and I both had a proper squee over it. Seriously, I love you for that It made my week, you are a gem.  
>  Okay, so that's enough rambling from me. **Thank you all for reading this far. Thank you for the comments because you make my dark days just that much brighter. _Thank you, thank you, thank you a million times_** and I hope that you are all doing better than, well, me and dear sweet emotionally clogged Agent Stone.]


	33. Coughing up Memories

* * *

~ R ~   
[Rosie Stone]

Old memories attack at the strangest times. Rosie could feel the shake in her hand as she pressed a hand to the bleeding wound on the kid they'd been trading with in front of her. She wasn’t a medic. On a good day she could patch herself up enough to make it to a doctor. Chew or inject just enough meds. 

But… Oh god.

Maybe it was the smell. Burning tire. Blood. Summer grass. Or maybe it was just… rotten fucking luck. 

Either way, her stomach rolled. Deacon slid in beside her as he knelt over the kid and took over. Plunge of a needle. Compress. Blood, blood, blood. Things got hazy as she tried to distance herself. In the war she didn’t usually have to play medic. If someone was bleeding it was too damn late. If she was bleeding… well she didn’t usually have to THINK then just concentrate on breathing or reciting a goddamn story in another language so she didn’t babble all her little mind seepage with the meds. 

Afterwards she sat in one of the back rooms of the abandoned building they'd taken refuge in-- head low and shaking as she took drag after drag of cigarette.

“Doll? ….Rose?” Nick’s voice was soft in the darkened room and she hoped he hadn't patched the wire that helped him see in the gloom just yet.

“Here.” She answered, her voice a husky dry low as she tried to stare a hole into the nearby wall while wrestling her mind.

“Kids gonna pull through. Deacon seems to think you need checking.”

Rosie took a ragged breath as she looked away and down. Feet were good. She could stare at feet. “M’fine.”

“Naw ya aint,” Hancock broke in as he bustled around the corner wiping his hands down as he continued. 

“M--” her voice broke and she had to clear her throat before she could continue-- “M’fine.”

Nick pulled off his hat-- the scratch of the fabric against his metal hand loud in the room before he huffed and Hancock made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat.

“Not gonna make you talk, Rose.” Nick said quietly, “but I think we need to all agree that lies like that don’t do any good.”

Hancock sat next to her. The warmth of him seeped into her hip and damn if she wasn’t grateful. The trick of it was that she did want to talk but so much of  her training had been to remove herself from… everything. For so long she’d fought that and now here it was doing more harm than good. 

“I…” she trailed off as she wondered where to begin. Did it matter?

Hancock leaned against her and offered her a fresh cigarette. They were waiting. Or maybe they were just trying to keep her company and make sure her mind didn’t vortex her into another goddamn spiral. Either way… 

“I used to volunteer,” She said softly, staring down at the red glow of the ember in her cigarette. “When I wasn’t working at the college I did volunteer work with the fire department. Too many people drafted and not enough bodies to fill the old jobs.”

Fuck. Was she really gonna tell this story? Even Aunt Daisy didn’t know it. She hadn’t told anyone but her brother’s grave. It had been the pushing point for her. 

“My brother died during the war. They bombed the training camp he was in.”

Someone scuffed a foot and she resisted the urge to look up. To track the sourse. Instead she pressed on like someone trying to leech poison from a 200 years too late wound. Her free hand rubbed at her forehead as if she could push the whole thing away-- memories and all-- but it only served to remind her that the blood splashed on her face had dried and it now flaked away and pinched her already dry skin.

“He wanted to be a firefighter,” she said in a low whisper, like she was telling a secret. 

Was it a secret? Did it matter? Swallowing down the boil of thoughts that rolled beneath her skin she pressed on, “when he died I started volunteering for the local department. Wasn’t hard. Already had all the training. It was required for all the college professors after one of the other schools were attacked.”

Heat. Pressure. She swallowed down the feeling like she might be sick. Talking about her past was a struggle after whatever they did to her in Alpha. She couldn’t even remember her damn original name but at least they hadn’t taken away all of what she’d been. 

“It… it was summer. A few drunk kids. No seat belts. They hit a car.”

Damn. It had been awful. The first real messy one. Even the older firefighters had paled for weeks after it. She was half thankful that neither Nick or Hancock tried to interrupt. The other half was silently begging them to stop the words as they were vomited up like a bad radroach stew. 

“Car was a family. Couple of kids. Parents. … the mom died right off. Neck.”

Summed up that made it seem almost mundane but it had been anything but. She still remembered the sounds of the kids crying. That same sound of the dad trying his damndest not to loose himself as well. Stay strong for your family. Stay Stone.

“...no seat belts on the drunk kids,” she repeated as she tried to find words past the dry of her mouth, “but they had… they were--” 

She broke off as the words caught and she took another drag from the cigarette and held it until her poor vision started to blur and swim. 

“They were… we spent hours picking up what was left. … I got drunk on my brother’s grave and joined the military the next week.”

It haunted her. It wasn’t some heroic or patriotic bullshit. It was feeling like she couldn’t wash the blood off her hands even after she’d scrubbed them hard enough to bleed. It was feeling like the illusion of mortality had been broken like a spell from a story. 

“They hit the other car on purpose.”

She remembered finding the first note. The kids had been so blitzed out of their goddamn gourds that they probably hadn’t felt a thing. All of them had been students of hers the previous summer. Freshly graduated. Lives ahead of them with promising careers in engineering. 

Her free hand scratched almost fiercely over her forehead as she swallowed hard and forced the words out. “They’d been drafted because of their skills. Because they’d taken my class. Because they had skills the army could use.”

Nick finally shifted as he spoke. “The new drafts.”

It was a statement. Not a question. Not a reassurance that it wasn’t her fault. He knew just like she did that it both was and wasn’t her fault and she’d take the blame either way. Hell, she held the blame for the end of the world on her shoulders even if in some ways it wasn’t her fault. Responsibility seemed to seep into the cracks that were glued together in her personality. 

Even in the gloom she could see the dark of the dried blood on her hands as she stared down at them. She’d started her legacy with handfuls of blood and oil. Machine and human. She’d helped create the monster that this world had now become… and now… she hated herself for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I know. ♥ Sorry luvs.

**Author's Note:**

>   **Translations can be found via hovering a mouse over the non-english words or at the End.**  
>  Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed. Fingers crossed it isn't too odd.  
> For reference, all images of Rosie Stone will be posted here- [Tumblr tagged Rosie Stone Posts](http://mitzyblue.tumblr.com/tagged/rosie-stone)  
> French translations/help by the wonderful (and very talented) Sisyphe.  
> (If you are a Mass Effect fan- [GO CHECK OUT HER WORK](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sisyphe))
> 
> [[ **I apologize but this is a very 'slowly' written tale. Thank you for being patient.** ♥]]


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